The Black Phantom
by Phoenicis Lunae
Summary: After Pitch's defeat by the Guardians, no one believes in him anymore...no one, save for a young college student, Amelia Lake. Noticing Amelia's haunting voice, the Nightmare King feels drawn to her. Yet can Pitch forsake the hate he's always known for Amelia's love? Or will his darkness consume them both? Based on Phantom of the Opera. Pitch/OC
1. Think of Me

**Author's Note:** My second ever story for RotG!

Mind, takes inspiration from several sources, primarily Andrew Lloyd Weber's 'Phantom of the Opera'; Beauty and the Beast; Salvador Dali's and Walt Disney's short film 'Destino'; and the myth of Hades and Persephone. The song for this chapter is "Think of Me", from the Phantom of the Opera.

Please read, review if you like it or to critique, and enjoy!

* * *

**- THE BLACK PHANTOM -**

_Chapter 1: Think of Me_

* * *

_It was that dream again._

I was clothed in a beautiful white dress, all in front a packed crowd at the Paris Opera House. Up above, seated in booths gilded with luxury and red velvet, sat three patrons, looking at me with pride in their eyes.

Glistening under the flicker of the lit candles at the forefront of the stage, I stared at the crowd, feeling strangely confident.

I opened my mouth and began to sing.

"Think of me  
think of me fondly,  
when we've said good-bye.  
Remember me, once in a while -  
please promise me, you'll try..."

My voice was, as always, beautiful and melodic, floating through the theater.

As I sang, I felt my soul begin to take flight...inside my heart, I could feel strong emotions stirring there. Oddly, I felt the tragedy of the song deep within my core, and pausing for breath, I continued to pronounce the lyrics.

"When you find  
that, once again, you long  
to take your heart back and be free  
if you ever find a moment,  
spare a thought  
for me_..."_

I continued the song, recounting it effortlessly from my mind as my tongue and lips formed the lyrics. Through the stanzas, I smiled, feeling as though I were soaring, flying on the rush of emotion I was experiencing.

"We never said  
our love was evergreen,  
or as unchanging as the sea  
but please promise me  
that sometimes  
you will think..."

As I took a sharp breath, preparing for the last line, I noticed a dark figure out of the corner of my eye.

Looking up slowly, I paused, catching a breath as I prepared to look directly at it. Whoever it was, the figure, from my peripheral vision, was in Box 5, the first and foremost private upstairs viewing balcony towards the right side of the stage.

However, my breath hitched in my throat because Box 5 was usually always left empty...I thought I could see the outline of a tall, dark person, a man, with yellow eyes...

...and when I looked at the booth directly, it was indeed empty again, though I swore I was still being watched.

Feeling a shiver go up my spine, I turned away, feeling an ominous sense of foreboding.  
He was here.

"Miss Daaé, is everything alright?"

I felt a gasp on my shoulder, and spinning around, I saw the face of a grizzled older man, probably one of the stagehands in charge of the rigging.

"You look like you've seen a ghost..."

With that, I shot up in my bed, panting for dear life.

Clutching a thin bed sheet against my chest with a sweaty palm, my eyes darted around the room. Again, I could feel the tingling sensation of being watched.

Looking down at the edge of my bed, where the shadows where darkest, I saw a pair of yellow eyes.

I shrieked loudly, fumbling with the lamp light before finally turning it on.

"Oh...thank God, it's only you."

My black cat, Dusty, with his curious yellow eyes, leaped on top of my bed.

With a low 'meow', Dusty came to a stop in front of me, and I reached out to scratch his cheek.

"Dusty, you startled me! Haha, I guess you just wanted some attention...or food..."

With a low purr, Dusty leaned into my fingers, and I smiled, scratching his chin. His eyes closed in contentment, and I felt my body relax.

* * *

"So...you had that dream? _Again?_"

"Yes," I sighed, exasperated, as I slammed my locker shut. "I've told you a hundred times, Yvonne."

Once again, my best friend and I were talking, or rather, arguing, about the nature of the dream that I had. My best friend for as long as I could remember, Yvonne had been there for me, through thick and thin, the good times and the bad times. As of late, she had also served as my personal therapist and dream interpreter.

She was my partner in crime, and rightly so. However, sometimes, we just couldn't seem to get along. Either Yvonne would say something and I wouldn't quite understand her, or it would be the other way around. This time, it seemed like the latter.

"You don't think this has anything to do with the upcoming _Phantom of the Opera_ tryouts, do you?" Yvonne said, leaning her long frame against the locker next to mine.

"I don't know," I admitted, gathering my books into my backpack as I shrugged. "Possibly..."

"_Or_...do you have a certain someone on your mind?" Yvonne giggled.

"Oh, please," I said, rolling my eyes, "Vic may have played a pretty handsome Sky Masterson, and is considered a shoe-in for the Phantom...but he's a senior. I'm a sophomore. He's twenty-four, and I'm twenty. There's no way that he'd notice _me_, Yvonne."

However, I couldn't help but feel a bit of heat in my cheeks.

"Sure, sure, lovergirl," Yvonne laughed, waving her hand, "You're smart, you're classy, _and_ you're drop dead beautiful, Amelia. If he wasn't attracted to you...well, then he'd be pretty much gay."

"Yeah," I admitted, looking down at my gray-and-pink patterned Converse shoes. "He still wouldn't notice me, though..."

"Not unless you got the part of Christine in the upcoming production," Yvonne pointed out, leaning in as she pointed her finger. "Girl, everyone knows that Vic, aside from being pure sexiness, pretty much has the role of the Phantom in the bag. He fits the description after all...tall, dark, and _very_ handsome...ooh, girl, I think _I_ might be crushing on him now!"

I sighed.

"Yvonne...I really appreciate your efforts, but I really think that Vic..."

"What about me?"

The familiar voice cut through me like a knife. I immediately ceased speaking as I turned, only to see none other than Vic behind me.

"Um..." was all I could manage, already feeling my face turn a deep shade of scarlet.

"Hey Vic," Yvonne said suddenly, causing Vic to turn his gaze from me to my best friend.

_Thank God for your quick thinking, Yvonne._

"Amelia and I were just talking about what a great Phantom you would make!" Yvonne said brightly, "You were such a fantastic Sky Masterson in _Guys and Dolls_, after all. Your singing was incredible!"

With that, Vic out a surprising, musical laugh.

"Why thank you!" he replied genially, smiling, "It's not often that I get those sorts of compliments...speaking on the Phantom, are you two going to the tryouts today?"

Yvonne suddenly grabbed my arm, pulling me next to her. I did my best to smile in front of Vic, but I could feel my cheeks still burning a bit. Of course, I couldn't help but view Vic's impeccable form out of the corner of my eye, seeing his abs briefly through his red shirt...

"Unfortunately, I'm not really good at singing or dancing, but Amelia here is trying out...for Christine!" Yvonne added.

I smiled, feeling my face heat up again as Vic's blue eyes met mine. Was it possible to have my legs turn to jelly? If so, they were doing a pretty good job of it.

"Well, Amelia," Vic said, looking at me with a gentle smile, "You certainly look the part. Good luck in the tryouts, and I hope to see both of you there. Madame Perrier could use more students in the theater program...and Yvonne, you could always try out for the role of Madame Giry. She mostly speaks, not sings."

"Thanks, Vic!" Yvonne added cheerfully. Speechless, all I could manage was a smile.

Turning, Vic left and raised his arm in a farewell gesture, his books under his other arm.

"Oh...my..._God!_" Yvonne squealed, as soon as Vic was out of earshot. "Amelia, he is _so_ cute!"

"Tell me something I don't know," I replied humorously.

"Okay. Here's the deal. If you don't ask him out, then _I_ will!"

"Hey!" I said, playfully defensive. "I saw him first!"

"Girl, are you _kidding_ me? Vic's got to have half the female student population drooling over him! It's by an act of God that _fine_ man is still single!"

I chuckled lightly at that, zipping my backpack and slinging it over my shoulder.

"Still," I said, still half joking with her, "We should probably do what he said. I know you're not much into singing or dancing, but he's right. Madame Giry would be a perfect role for you...and I'm sure they need that token African American female somewhere."

"Girl, tell me I did _not_ just hear you say what I think you said!"

We both laughed.

"Well, we probably should get going to class. See you at the tryouts at 3:00 PM today?" I asked her.

"You know I wouldn't miss it, especially not with Mr. Hot Piece of Ass there," Yvonne replied, "Mmm-hmmm...the things I would do to him..."

I playfully slapped her on the arm, and we both walked to our Fine Arts III class.

Both Yvonne and I were attending Folstrom College of Art and Design, a mediocre state college not far from the town of Burgess, Pennsylvania. So far we had attended the school for two years, and I had gotten mediocre to good grades, even appearing on the Dean's List one semester.

Since I was born, I had been a very artsy and creative child, engaging from a young age in dance, singing, violin, piano, and acting lessons. Eventually, I started appearing in school plays, even joining Burgess Middle School's music club, where I met Yvonne.

As they say, the rest is history.

After our three-hour-long class was done, it was 2:30 PM, and Yvonne and I decided to head over to the theater.

As we arrived, Yvonne and I both signed up at a table outside for the Phantom tryouts.

Luckily, it didn't seem like many people had shown up, either...but then again, not exactly every one of the students here were 'theater geeks', or could sing or dance. Most were art students, studying primarily painting, sculpting, photography, and other art forms.

"Okay," the woman taking down the names finished, handing us each two blank name tags. "Write down your names with the Sharpie markers here, and then seat yourself in the front row of the theater. You will be called up by number, and asked to recite the lines of the character you're trying out for, or sing one of their songs."

After writing our names down and sticking the badges on our shirts, Yvonne and I headed into the theater.

"Wow," I remarked softly, gazing up at the the interior magnificence of the theater. True to the school's emphasis on design, they had made it into a Baroque splendor: a large, arching ceiling; gilded statues of Romanesque women atop pillars of white marble; and golden-edged seats, trimmed with the familiar red velvet. In fact, Amelia knew, that they had probably modeled this theater after the grand Opera Populaire in Paris.

Hence, probably why they were putting on the performance of_ Phantom of the Opera_: it was the theater's fiftieth anniversary.

Seating themselves, Yvonne and I quietly recited our lines, while meanwhile, the other students trying out talked in a low din.

"Now, now, settle down, everyone," came the barking, hoarse voice of an older woman, with a British accent. "Pipe down, I said!"

"Oh, boy. Here comes the Dragon Lady," Yvonne whispered lowly.

With the woman's repeated commands, the theater seemed to quiet almost immediately.

"Now," the voice began, as an older woman with short cropped, graying hair, in an austere black suit and low heels, appeared on stage. "As you all know, these are the auditions for the Fulstrom Theater's fiftieth anniversary production of Andrew Lloyd Weber's _The Phantom of the Opera_. While I would have liked to see more of you here, I hope you have all signed up and have your name badges on."

"As usual, you have been provided with the lines or lyrics we wish you to read - or, in most cases, sing. This _is_ a musical, after all, people, not a half-assed show. I make all final calls, and I will be selecting the best of the best for this production. In fact, recruiters from NYADA will be here, looking for potential prospects for the lucky few who may be allowed to transfer. So, you better not waste my time, and give it your best shot."

"I'm going to be calling from a list," Madame Perrier added, but was interrupted by snickering.

"What kind of a person has the name of a French water bottle?" one guy called, his friends snickering around him.

"Oh! Our first joker, eh?" Madame Perrier began, turning, with an evil glint in her eyes, as she suddenly glared at the young gentlemen. "If you're only going to cause trouble, I'll make your lives a living Hell. How does _that_ sound?"

The guys immediately stopped chuckling at the sight of the intimidating, insane, and honestly creepy looking face she made.

"No more takers? Good," Madame Perrier finished, turning her back and walking slowly across the wooden floor. "As you also can see, I have divided you into two sections: the boys on the right, and the girls on the left. You will try out one after the other, in a boy-girl-boy-girl pattern."

"Now, even though you're trying out for a particular character, I reserve the right to place you in another role. Each major character will also have an understudy, in case one of you unexpectedly, oh, I dunno, gets kidnapped and murdered."

The madame's joke did not go over well as the theater was deathly silent.

"With that," Madame Perrier said, raising her arm, "Let's begin with the boys! #1, will you please stand up?"

The tryouts began. Luckily Yvonne and I were towards the back of the line, with me being the last girl, and Yvonne being second to last.

As we watched, we winced as we heard those who probably should not have tried out for singing roles - "Extra," the Madame usually called out for them - those who were mediocre, who were also cast in extra roles - and finally, the good ones.

"#6, girls, please come up on stage," Madame Perrier announced. A lithe, younger looking blonde haired girl bounced up on stage, her locks pulled neatly back into a ponytail.

"Wow," Yvonne whispered to me. "Really going for the innocent look, there."

"State your name, year, experience, and the song you'll be singing," Madame Perrier spoke in flat, monotone voice.

"My name is Amber Tamblyn, and I'm here to try out for the role of Christine Daaé," she said, bowing her head and doing a small curtsy. "I'm eighteen, a freshman, and I've previously taken singing lessons, as well as ballet lessons. Today I will be singing 'Think of Me'."

_Damn._ She had picked the song that _I_ was planning to sing.

"Begin," Madame Perrier said, waving her hand.

Clasping her hands and closing her eyes, Amber began to sing.

The familiar notes, sweet and high pitched, filled the theater, and I found my hand tightening on the seat handle.

"Damn, she's good," Yvonne commented lowly, "_And_ she can dance."

"Yes," I replied in a tight whisper, "And she's blonde. In the book, Christine was originally a blonde."

"And the Phantom _phan_ strikes again," Yvonne chuckled softly, but I felt too nervous to laugh at that.

What if this Amber Tamblyn girl got the role of Christine?

Even worse...what if she got the role, and I didn't get any role at all?

As I felt my fears silently begin to nag at me, suddenly, I got _that_ feeling again. The feeling that someone was watching me.

Tensing, I flexed my sweaty palms as I felt a cool breeze tickle the back of my exposed neck. Glancing around, I saw that all the doors were closed...and looking up, as far as I could tell, the vents were far too high up in this massive theater to have caused such a breeze.

Glancing around and behind, however, I saw that there was no one there...

...no one there, but the shadows...

I was so focused on the feeling that, when I turned around, Amber had already finished her rendition of the song. Opening her eyes, she smiled and did another curtsy for Madame Perrier, while the rest of the students clapped.

"Hmmm," Madame Perrier said, seemingly chewing on something.

I watched with bated breath, feeling like I was unable to breathe. After what seemed like an eternity of silence, finally, the Dragon Lady spoke.

"I like you," she spoke, "But I think I'll wait to cast you in a particular role, my dear, until we've heard everyone sing. Christine is a role I do not want to give away _too_ freely."

"Of course, Madame Perrier," Amber said politely, with another curtsy, before leaving the stage. "As you wish."

Even though Amber had not yet been cast as Christine, I felt like I couldn't breathe. My hands would tighten with each girl who went up on stage, and not even their otherwise, mostly alto singing, or their lack of range, could put me at ease. Luckily for me, each of them chose different songs.

I could fear fear rising in my stomach, lodging like a rock in my throat.

"#12, girls, could you please come on stage."

Finally, it was Yvonne's turn to perform.

"Wish me luck!" she whispered, hugging me briefly. I hugged her back, patting her on the shoulder.

"Go get 'em, 'Vonne. You can do it!" I whispered back.

As Yvonne stepped on stage, however, I felt another chilly, though stronger, breeze. Shivering, and not entirely out of the colder temperature, I once again felt the hairs on the back of my neck go up.

However, unlike the previous wind, the cold didn't come and go. Instead, it seemed to form a cold spot right next to me, right where Yvonne had been sitting before.

"My name is Yvonne Hartley, and I'm trying out for the role of Madame Giry," Yvonne suddenly spoke, loud and clear. "I'm twenty years old, a sophomore...and I have no singing or dancing experience." A pause. "I've been told I make a Hell of a cook, though!"

With that, the audience broke into laughter.

"Well...cooking is certainly a...useful skill, for the culinary arts," Madame Perrier said, "But interesting. You're cheeky, and I like that. Go on. In fact, Mr. Joshua Blake, why don't you play the role of the new co-owner of the Opera Populaire, Monsieur Firmin? I'd like to see you two act out paragraph B."

I watched as Yvonne said her lines clearly and loudly, projecting her voice and modifying her tone for the scene, just as we had briefly practiced before the tryouts. When she and Josh Blake had finished their lines, they clasped hands and bowed, gaining more clapping.

"Well, I think we have found our new Madame Giry," Madame Perrier spoke, scribbling down Yvonne's name on a sheet of paper before her. "Congratulations, Miss Hartley. You did a fine job, for someone with no acting, dancing, or singing experience."

Thankfully, Yvonne came swiftly back down and sat where the cold spot was.

"Now...#13, boys, please stand up."

Looking over, I felt another flush of scarlet on my cheeks as I saw Vic stand up, jogging up the stairs and onto the stage.

"My name is Vic Montague, and I will be trying out for the role of the Phantom...or, as he's called, Erik," Vic announced. If Vic had done the one thing to make him even more attractive in my book, he just did - he knew the Phantom's name!

"I'm 24, a senior, and I have previous theater and singing experience. As many of you may, or may not know, I played the male lead, Sky Masterson, in last semester's production of _Guys and Dolls_. Today, I will be singing that favorite classic...'Music of the Night'."

"Oh, yes! Mr. Montague! So good to see you again," Madame Perrier greeted him fondly. "You may begin."

Clearing his throat, Vic closed his eyes, then opened them again...and he seemed to look right at me. I swore I felt my heart skip a beat.

Then, Vic began to sing, and his voice was...perfect. I didn't know how else to describe it. It was rich...and not too deep, and the way he sang it, he was obviously familiar with the song...making it sound sensual and beautiful, capitalizing on portraying the Phantom's softer side.

Just as he got past the first stanza, however, the overhead lights suddenly went out.

Almost immediately, there were loud murmurs and whispers.

"What the-?" I heard Madame Perrier's voice say, and then mutter, "Damn old theater lighting...if only they would fix this damn place up once in awhile. Mr. Morgan, Mr. Blake, go check the switches on stage to make sure they didn't slip again."

"Mr. Montague!" the Dragon Lady called, "I know your work very well, and I heard enough to place you in the role. Congratulations, you'll be playing our lead male role as the Phantom! Meanwhile, I'm designating Mr. Samson Blake as our Vicomte de Chagny, or Raoul. Congrats to you both!"

As I peered through the shadows, I wondered if perhaps my audition would be delayed...but no such luck.

"No, it may be dark, but we're fixing that as I speak. #13, girls, please come up on stage...and please, watch your step."

With my heart hammering away in my chest, I got up and forced my shaky legs up the stairs, and headed towards the middle of the stage.

Just as I got to the center, however, the lights flickered back on.

"Well, now, there we go!" Madame Perrier exclaimed, then looked at me. "Thank God. Now, please, go on."

"My name is Amelia Lake," I said, my voice sounding nervous in my own ears. I swallowed. "I'm trying out for the role of Christine Daaé. I am twenty years old, a sophomore, and have previous experience in theater, as well as singing and ballet lessons. I will be singing...'Think of Me'."

Nodding, and oddly chewing again, Madame Perrier seemed to size me up, from head to toe.

"Very well," she commented, "You may proceed, Miss Lake."

At the same time, I felt a sense of déjà vu as I looked out across the large, empty auditorium...

...and with a deep, calming breath, I began to sing.

_"Think of me  
think of me fondly,  
when we've said  
goodbye..."_

At first, I started off a bit shaky, but within the first few lines, I slowly gained confidence as I heard my voice echo, soft and alluring, across the mostly empty audience. Oddly, I felt as though time had stilled...and I heard something soft, a male's voice, so low it was almost inaudible, sing along with me. Wondering if it was Vic singing along with me, I felt comforted and soothed, as though my initial fear was melting away.

Before I knew it, I had finished the last lines, and, with a shaky breath, I looked over for Madame Perrier's judgement.

It seemed that everyone, even the men, were silent, including the good Madame, as she chewed again, as though deciding over something.

"I don't have much experience with you personally, Miss Lake," Madame Perrier began, looking up at me and meeting me with her now-soft gaze. "But from what I can tell, you have practiced well, and hit almost every note equally well. Your range is also quite impressive."

"However, there is room for improvement..."

I swear I felt my heart sink a little in my chest.

"...but that's alright, because you'll have plenty of time to practice as our new Christine Daaé."

I stared at her, sure I was gawking by this point.

"Yes, Miss Lake, you have the role," Madame Perrier added. "Amber Tamblyn will play our Meg Giry."

I felt excitement and triumph swell inside me, and I had to bite my tongue to make sure I didn't let out a burst of laughter. Bounding from the stage, I was grinning from ear to ear as I met Yvonne halfway, embracing her in a tight hug.

"Amelia, you did it!" Yvonne said happily, "And you get to star with Vic in the play! You are _so_ lucky!"

"Don't forget, Yvonne," I pointed out, "You're in the play, too!"

"Yeah, as Madame Giry...the creepy old woman who seems to have an equally creepy thing for the Phantom."

"Hey, now. I'd say getting Madame Giry was pretty good for your first ever audition here."

"Of course," Yvonne said, chuckling, playfully punching my arm. "I'm just messin' with you, 'Lia. You and your Phantom obsession."

Just then, as I tilted my head up, out of the corner of my eyes, I saw a dark shadow above...one with yellow eyes...

"Yvonne," I whispered suddenly, grabbing her arm. "He's here."

"Who? The Phantom of the Opera?" she joked.

"No," I hissed, just now noticing the yellow eyes...were fixated on me. "It's _him_. The man from my dreams."

"Ohhh," Yvonne suddenly replied, in realization. "You mean the Boogeyman."

"The..._w-what?_" I spluttered, snapping my gaze away to look at her. "Did you just say, 'the Boogeyman'?"

"Yep, fits the description. No white mask to speak of, tall, shadow-y, causes you to feel shivers to run up your spine and your hair stand on end."

"Are...are you..." I asked, then watched as her serious face suddenly spread into a maniacal grin. "You're not treating this seriously, are you?"

"Oh, of course I am...because everyone knows that the Boogeyman is _real_," Yvonne said, her words dripping with sarcasm. "Just ask his best friends, the Easter Bunny and the Tooth Fairy."

"'Vonne, I'm pretty sure the Boogeyman was the enemy of the Easter Bunny and the Tooth Fairy..."

"Whatever," Yvonne said, waving her hand. "The point is, the Boogeyman isn't real...and you're way too old to be believing in that fairy tale crap, anyways. I mean, c'mon, really? Humans have an instinctual fear of darkness, and they come up with 'the _Boogeyman_' to explain it away? What kind of a name is _that_? It's not like anyone _believes_ in him."

Immediately, I felt a strong, chilly gust of wind strike Yvonne and I, passing almost right through the space between us.

"Did you feel that?" I asked Yvonne, but Yvonne just shook her head.

"They probably just turned the AC up. It gets really stuffy in here anyways, or so I've heard," Yvonne dismissed, with a humorous smile, "You hear that, Amelia? Just the AC turning on. Nothing to be afraid of...unless you count that the _Booooogeyman_ is out to get you!"

Yvonne raised her arms, moving her fingers like spiders as she tickled my arms, causing me to laugh.

Looking back up at the booth again, sure enough, whatever I had perceived was there before was gone.

However, as Yvonne and I walked out of the theater with the other kids, me catching a quick glimpse of Vic and his pal glancing our way, sending my heart fluttering, I couldn't shake the feeling I was still being watched.

"The Boogeyman, eh?" I muttered to myself, "We'll just have to see about that..."

* * *

**Disclaimer:** _Rise of the Guardians_ and all related literary characters are © 2013 to Dreamworks and William Joyce. This is an unauthorized work of fiction, and should not be regarded as canon or real in any way. The Black Phantom, all unrelated characters, are © 2013 to me, and are not be used in any other works of fanfiction not authorized or written by me without my permission.


	2. Angel of Music

**Author's Note:** Thank you all so much for your favorites, alerts, and reviews!

In keeping in accordance with the Phantom theme, we focus on two more songs from 'Phantom of the Opera' in this chapter. I also like to happily announce I also will be including chapters based off of various songs from other musicals, such as _Guys and Dolls,_ _Les Misérables, RENT,_ and more.

Please read, review if you like it or to critique, and enjoy!

* * *

**- THE BLACK PHANTOM -**

_Chapter 2: Angel of Music_

* * *

_I had a similar dream tonight, but this time, it was different._

_I was seated in a familiar wooden parlor room, in a wooden chair lined with red velvet, sitting at a desk. In front of me was a tall mirror, and in the reflection, I saw myself: dressed, again, in the shining white dress, my dark brown hair formed into ringlets and an updo. Holding a wooden brush, with bristles apparently made of horse hair, I steadily brushed my curly locks._

_A loud, booming voice sounded, causing me to jump._

_"Insolent BOY, this slave of fashion! Basking in your glory!" the voice sang, and it sounded angry. This voice, however, was not that of any Phantom actor I knew...if was held far more power in it, a sense of noble authority. "Ignorant FOOL, this brave young suitor! Sharing in MY triumph!"_

_"Angel , I hear you! Speak, I listen. Stay by my side, guide me," I sang back, rising from the chair, my voice coming forth of its own accord. "Angel, my soul was weak, forgive me! Enter at last, Master!"_

_Though I felt I couldn't control my words exactly, they were melodious and hit exactly the right notes._

_"Flattering child, you shall know me...see why in shadow I hide," the voice echoed, considerably smoother, its tone sending more chills down my spine. "Look at your face in the mirror. I am there inside!"_

_I turned my head to look at the large, door-length mirror against the wall, and gasped._

_Slowly, a mysterious figure started to form, shadows arching up and forming the shape of a tall, dark man. Strangely, although his visage sent fear shooting like fire through my veins, he was also darkly handsome, with high cheekbones and short, wild black hair._

_However, he wore no mask on his face...and as he materialized, his eyes formed a eerie yellow, glowing luminously...he was not the Phantom, and yet he seemed an entirely ethereal being._

_I couldn't help but stare into those eyes, mesmerized. They seemed akin to liquid gold, a soft amber that spoke of untold mysteries._

_"Angel of music, guide and guardian, grant to me your glory!" I sang back, unable to control my own dream, despite feeling terror well up inside me. My insides felt paralyzed, yet I sang on. "Angel of music, hide no longer! Come to me, strange Angel!"_

_"I am your Angel of Music...come to the Angel of Music..." the man sang, nearly whispering. He extended his dark hand for me to take._

_Not only was his voice soft and enchanting, but it was haunting and beautiful...along with his eyes..._

_"I am your Angel of Music...come to the Angel of Music..."_

_Slowly, I felt my hand extend towards his outstretched one..._

I jerked up, and sudden awake, as I felt something akin to electricity shoot through my spine.

Meowing, Dusty poked his head up, his yellow eyes seemingly just as luminous as the mysterious man's.

I scratched Dusty's chin with a sigh, closing my eyes. Again, I was in my room, but there was no one with me. Only Dusty and I inhabited the one-bedroom studio apartment, part of the college's expensive, and tailored, on campus housing.

Briefly, as I breathed in deeply, the slightly chilly air of near Easter in Pennsylvania upon me, I thought I heard an echo.

I snapped up, opening my eyes, but again, there was no one there...

"Just shadows, Dusty," I breathed, "Just the shadows."

_Or was it?_

* * *

"Yvonne...I had another dream."

"You did?" Yvonne said, her spoon sticking downwards out of her mouth as she frowned.

We were eating lunch in the school's food court that midday, with Yvonne purchasing some yogurt, salad, and a chicken sandwich, while I purchased a chicken Caesar wrap and some chocolate milk. By now, we had finished most of our meals, but my best friend was still poking at her strawberry-and-peach yogurt.

"It was different, this time, though," I explained, my eyes looking down at my folded hands on the table. "This time...I saw him."

"Wait," Yvonne said, thrusting her spoon in her side dish as she sat up, now fully alert. "You mean, you actually _saw_ him?"

I nodded.

"Well," Yvonne continued, leaning in closer, all ears. "What did you see? ...I mean, what was he like?"

"Well," I echoed, pushing the remains of my chicken wrap around with a plastic fork. "He wasn't the Phantom, for starters...or, at least I don't think he was."

"Not the Phantom, but you had a Phantom related dream," Yvonne stated flatly. "Okay, a bit confusing, but go on."

I hesitated, feeling a shiver run up my spine - for the umpteenth time that day - as I recalled the dream vividly in my mind's eye. Especially those glowing, intriguing, mysterious yellow eyes...

"He..." I began, pausing again as I felt my lips twist. "Well, it's sort of hard to describe him. He was tall...more on the skinny side...completely dark clothing...high cheekbones...this short, sort of wild black hair...and glowing, yellow eyes...It's hard to tell, but he probably was at least over six feet tall? He was definitely taller than my measly five feet, three inches..."

"Wait, wait, wait," Yvonne interjected, holding up her hands. "_Yellow_ eyes? And _glowing_? Are you sure about that? Because that's not...sort of creepy as hell."

"I know," I admitted, looking down, "But at the same time...he looked pretty...handsome. You know, like in a dark, Byronic hero kind of way."

"_Handsome?_" Yvonne nearly choked, spluttering on her bite of yogurt. "This guy had freaking demonic eyes, and you think he was _handsome_?"

"Well...he fits the description perfectly...after all, Lord Macaulay did describe the 'Byronic hero' as 'a man proud, moody, cynical, with defiance on his brow, and misery in his heart, a scorner of his kind, implacable in revenge, yet capable of deep and strong affection'..."

"I'm...I'm surprised you even _remember_ that," Yvonne replied, frowning again. "You really _are_ into the Romantic stuff, aren't you? Anyways, that's not what I'm talking about. From what you described to me, I can only think of a few things that may fit an interpretation...and that's a maybe."

"You sure you don't have some sort of dark, occultist fetish...right?" Yvonne added, raising a questioning eyebrow.

"Of course not, 'Vonne," I replied with a snort, rolling my eyes. "Do I really look like the definition of a 'Satanist' to you?"

"True," Yvonne admitted, pointing her finger. "However...don't take this the wrong way...but you could have some deep, ingrained fantasy or desire to get with a 'bad boy'. Don't worry about it, all women technically have that same fantasy. It's a hormonal thing we really can't help. Anyways, that being said...here's what I think that your dream means."

"I think it means the Boogeyman really, _really_ likes you," Yvonne said, her face all seriousness.

_"Yvonne!"_

"Okay, okay, fine...sheesh, I can't believe you're even still worried about that," Yvonne said, chuckling. "Unless you have some sort of deep, dark desire to get with the Boogeyman, that is."

"Which I_ don't_," I said flatly, looking at her, annoyed. "Get on with it, woman, and enough with the Boogeyman jokes."

"Alright, alright! ...anyways, here's what I think your dream means. Well, let me start with my first impression. One...you had a dream about a demon. No, don't give me that look! ...I know you've never dreamed about a demon before, 'cepting the Phantom dreams, but still."

"When you see demons in your dreams, this means that the unconscious mind that produces them is sending you many warnings," Yvonne explained, "The demons represent people who are cruel and immoral, and will ruin your life."

"Oh, that's just _great_," I commented sarcastically, perturbed. "So there's people I know who are 'cruel and immoral, and will ruin my life'? That's _such_ a pleasant thought to have."

"Not necessarily," Yvonne pointed out, "Just be very cautious when you see this demon in your dreams...and think carefully before acting. The dream may, in fact, be opening your eyes, and helping you see hidden dangers that are threatening your life and happiness."

"Then there's interpretation _numero dos_. Two...you dreamed about an incubus."

"An incubus? _Really?"_ I remarked incredulously, "You mean those demons that seduce women in their dreams?"

Yvonne nodded, and then continued. "The incubus in a dream represents a nefarious drain of emotional resources. To be seduced by an incubus in a dream is to be drained of inner strength."

"Well, that might make sense," I responded, "Except I don't feel 'drained of inner strength' in any way."

"I'll put it this way," Yvonne added, gesturing her hands as he extended her palms. "Did you feel afraid of this man, in your dream?"

"Well...yes," I admitted, "In fact, I felt _pretty_ terrified...and that's putting it lightly."

"Exactly," Yvonne pointed out, "If it was indeed a dream about an incubus, he _could_ very well be draining you of your inner strength by putting you in such a state of fear. To most people, 'inner strength' is equated with courage, valor, bravery...you get the gist. In a nutshell, he's acting like an emotional vampire, sucking the courage out of you and capitalizing on your fear."

"Last but not least," Yvonne continued, "Three...you indeed had a dream about the Boogeyman."

I rolled my eyes again.

"No, really! Hear me out," Yvonne pleaded, "To see the Boogeyman in your dream symbolizes the repressed and rejected aspect of yourself. It also signifies fear. For children, to dream of the Boogeyman represents the disciplinary aspects of the parents that brings about fear and punishment."

"I'm certainly not a child anymore," I said, pointing out the obvious, "And I haven't seen my mom for about two years, now, since she moved to Phoenix. My dad...well, we both know what happened to him. The last thing I would be afraid of is being 'disciplined', or being 'punished' by either of them."

"You make a good point," Yvonne agreed, nodding. "However...and don't shoot me for this...but..." She paused, taking a deep breath. "I think you may have something deeply repressed in your subconscious. The Boogeyman, incubus, and demon dream meanings all relate to each other. If I had to say my opinion...I'd say that you have a dark, ingrained emotion that you're afraid of...whatever it is that you've repressed and rejected. It could also mean that you're afraid of recognizing this emotion. Perhaps, and you should consider this...maybe you _do_ have a thing for Mr. Dark and Mysterious..."

"Hmmm," I pondered, thinking it over a bit, chewing the inside of my lip.

Could it indeed be possible that I was feeling something that terrified me, as well as attracted me...? That would certainly describe the emotions I felt in the dream...however, there was no way I was about to let Yvonne know that, and suffer the brunt of more bad Boogeyman jokes.

"I'll certainly think about it. You've given me a lot to ponder...thanks, Yvonne. As always, I appreciate it," I finally said, smiling.

"No problem, Amelia," Yvonne replied, placing her hand gently on my right forearm, with a laugh. "My services, for you, are _always_ free."

Later that day, we had the day off from class, so we decided to drop by the theater extra early to begin the rehearsals. So far as we knew, everyone was required to attend the rehearsals, whether or not they were actually practicing their character's part, by Madame Perrier, and she was pretty strict about it. Though she wasn't an actual dragon lady, so to speak, she would likely spit fire at those who showed up late or missed so much as one practice.

Walking into the grand theater, we saw that most of the people had still not yet shown up so early. However, Amber Tamblyn was there, and much to my surprise, in full ballet costume.

Vic was also there, in casual black slacks and a white dress shirt, complete with a red tie and black suspenders. Talking to Amber, he seemed to be getting along quite well with her - something that sent my stomach boiling with jealousy pretty quickly.

"Oh no...I wonder if she's his girlfriend or something?" Yvonne whispered, though I shook my head.

Even so, I could feel my hands balling up into tight, clenched fists.

"I don't think so," I said lowly back, looking closer at the two's body language. "See the way that they're talking? Usually boyfriends and girlfriends, or sexually attracted people, tend to hover very close to each other. Yet you see they each have at least ten feet in between them."

At least, according to my scarce knowledge of Psychology, that's what I could remember.

"Hmm. I guess you do have a point," Yvonne replied, lowering her voice. "For Vic to be taken would be a tragedy for all single girls at this school."

_Let's hope he's not_, I silently thought to myself, suddenly feeling tense and uneasy. I flexed my hands, loosening them as Yvonne and I approached the pair, who were one of the few to be here already.

"Hey Yvonne," Vic greeted, flashing a smile, as he looked up. "Hey, Amelia."

I felt my heart flutters he said my name, looking me in the eyes with that perfect smile. _He remembered my name!_

"Hello," Amber greeted tentatively, looking unsure as to our names. I doubt that she remembered them, and as she gave a sheepish look, she confirmed my suspicion. "You'll have to forgive me, I don't remember names very well. It's a pleasure to meet you, however. I'm Amber."

Moving lithely over to us, she held out her hand for us to shake, smiling warmly and genuinely. Hesitating, I looked briefly at her outstretched hand, and briefly at her form. Tall, skinny, and graceful, with a long, arching neck and collarbone, as well as young, chaste, model like beauty, Amber looked the perfect part of a ballerina. Even her hair, again, was pulled up into a ponytail, her smooth, corn silk hair looking soft and silky, and matching her large, pale, blue eyes exquisitely.

_How is she so...friendly? And nice? She was competing with me, and was my opponent just yesterday, _I found myself thinking to myself, slightly annoyed and dismayed. With her blonde, long hair, and graceful, delicate looking features, as well as her 'perfect' body and innocently good looks, I had half expected her to be...well, a bitch. Every 'hot blonde' that Yvonne and I had usually encountered in high school had been well aware of their good looks, dressed like sluts, and acted like attention whores, wearing the skimpiest clothes possible to attract male attention.

Hell, even the name _Amber_ sounded like the kind of name a girl would give herself to turn male heads...

Amber Tamblyn, however, seemed just the opposite. Instead of a horrible 'mean girl', she seemed serene, unfazed, sweet, and gentle...or, at least that's how she carried and presented herself. Maybe giving her a shot wouldn't be half bad...especially since she was playing Meg Giry, Christine's best friend, and it probably would not go over well at all to let negative emotions and rivalry taint our performances.

After a moment's thought, I slowly took her hand, giving her a firm shake.

"Amelia," I replied, equally warm, as I smiled. "Amelia Lake."

"Amelia Lake," Amber repeated. "I'll certainly have to remember that...and you are...?"

"Yvonne Hartley," Yvonne responded, also shaking her hand as Amber thanked her.

"Well, now that everyone knows each other, I think it would be a good time to practice," Vic said suddenly, waving his arm to beckon us to the stage. "And what better way for all of us to get a head start?"

I nodded, and followed him, Amber, and Yvonne silently up to the stage.

As I passed up the stairs, however, I felt a chilling breeze. Stopping suddenly, I felt the hairs on the back of my neck shoot straight up as I _swore_ I felt someone breathing on the back of my neck.

Spinning around, I expected to see another student there...but the theater was dark and empty.

"Amelia? Are you okay?" Vic asked, concerned.

I turned again to face him, shaking my head. Inside, however, I could feel the terrible fear surge again, clawing at my stomach, and forming a hard, uncomfortable lump in my throat. Chills seemed to shiver through my small, slender frame.

"No...nope, I'm fine," I replied, faking a wide smile. "Let's continue. We probably should practice."

Moving closer to Yvonne, I joined the group in some breathing exercises, slowly inhaling, and exhaling, from the diaphragm. Closing my eyes briefly, I searched my mind, as old memories of years of music lessons bubbled to the forefront. Almost as if simulating meditation, my breaths became slower and deeper, and I felt myself slip into a calm, steady confidence.

Placing out hands flat on our upper stomachs, with our fingertips just touching, we each breathed, making our fingers come apart. _The stomach moves, not the shoulders_, I thought silently, recalling my old music teacher and how she had first shown me at the age of seven. Her bony, wrinkled fingers had moved over mine, the painted, red nails contrasting against the withered skin and the strand of long, straight white hair that had fallen over my shoulder.

We practiced our breathing some more, trying out some exercises leading to lung capacity. Trained singers like Amber, Vic, and I probably all had greater lung capacity that Yvonne, who, luckily, didn't have to sing much at all during the play.

After our breathing exercises, we practiced our scales, each time trying to expand our ranges outside of our comfort zones a little more.

"Mmm, my my, here so early?" a familiar voice rang out.

Turning at the same time, we all saw the approaching figure of Madame Perrier - in her usual professional attire, as always - with manila folders and stacks of paper under one arm, her black, leather briefcase in hand. Taking a seat at the forefront of the theater, in front of the stage, she eyed us as though sizing us up. Her lips pursed.

"You're very well trained singers," she began, "Practicing as you should, so early...and this gives me an idea."

As the other students trickled in, and finally, everyone had arrived by the set time - no one dared be late, save for those who wished to fear Madame Perrier's wrath - and taken front row seats. Appointing Sampson Blake to hand out the folders, Madame Perrier instructed each student receive a folder with their lines, as well as a packet of paper for the play's entire script.

"Now, thanks to a generous donation from an anonymous benefactor, you all can receive these today, free of charge, along with playbills, when they're shipped in," Madame Perrier added, clasping her hands. "Finally, _someone_ is smart enough to recognize the potential of all of you." She gestured to the gathered students. "Hopefully, more sponsors will follow. This production will need more funding than usual, of course."

"Thanks to this generous donation, we will be able to hire a professional seamstress to work on your costumes, and make them unique to each one of you," the Madame said, "These will take place in individual appointments...mandatory, of course...that will be set at a later date. The school's Art Club will also be working hard on making the sets for the play, reproducing them as much as possible from the original _Phantom of the Opera_ national tour."

"With those announcements out of the way," Madame Perrier remarked, "Let us begin practice. We will start, of course, by following the play chronologically, which means 'in order', for those of you who don't know the term...but I have a special treat for you all beforehand."

Waving her hand, the Madame looked pointedly at Amber, and then me.

"We shall have Miss Tamblyn, and Miss Lake, sing the first duet in the script."

A little surprised at first, I looked back at Amber, who nodded, and then back at the Madame, who raised an eyebrow.

Finally, I dipped my head in submission, rising from my seat and following Amber as the blonde haired ballerina seemed to float her way onto the stage.

"Take your positions at the marked 'X's on the floor," Madame Perrier instructed, and looking down at the rich mahogany floorboards below, sure enough, I saw two blue X's, marked by duct tape. "Miss Tamblyn, take the one on the right...Miss Lake, the one on the left."

We took our positions, and closing my eyes, I let out a slow, deep breath. We both moved to get into character.

"Now," the Madame continued, "Our resident Phantom, Mr. Montague, is backstage at the moment, singing the brief parts of our mysterious 'Angel of Music'."

I looked around, and sure enough, the seat I assumed Vic had been sitting in was empty. He was nowhere in sight.

"With that...ladies, you may begin."

_"Brava, brava, bravissima..."_ came a soft voice, nearly inaudible...and it sounded...familiar...almost like...

I gulped, but then steadied myself. This was no time to be nervous, and I needed to prepare for my lines.

_"Christine, Christine..."_ Amber sang softly.

_"Christine..."_ called a low, musical voice. I assumed it was Vic's, but it was so haunting that it sent chills down my spine.

Amber, moving towards me curiously as she stayed in character, continued to sing.

_"Where in the world  
have you been hiding?  
Really, you were perfect!  
I only wish  
I knew your secret!  
Who is your great tutor?"_

Her voice, high and innocent, sounded perfect for Meg Giry's, and combined with her innocent look, she looked almost breathtakingly real.

As she stopped, I opened my mouth and began to sing.

_"Father once spoke of an angel  
I used to dream he'd appear  
Now as I sing, I can sense him  
And I know he's here!"_

Once again, I felt a cool breeze brush past me, and I froze. Yet I knew I had to keep singing. I looked around as Christine would, but as usual, I saw nothing.

_"Here in this room  
he calls me softly-  
somewhere inside, hiding  
Somehow I know  
he's always with me  
he - the unseen genius!"_

I couldn't help but feel even more easy to get into character, especially feeling as though someone really was watching me. I shivered, feeling the cold seemingly envelop me like a fog.

Meanwhile, Amber sung her next part, placing her hand on my shoulder.

_"Christine, you must have been dreaming  
stories like this can't come true!  
Christine, you're talking in riddles  
and it's not like you!"_

Listening to Amber's softly sung words, I couldn't help but think of my conversation with Yvonne the day before. _'The point is, the Boogeyman isn't real...'_

Still, I swallowed briefly and sang on, adding strength to my voice to project it, enunciating Christine's calling.

_"Angel of Music!  
Guide and guardian!  
Grant to me your glory!"_

"Who is this angel? This..."

Amber sang, then joined me in a brief duet.

_"Angel of Music!  
Hide no longer!  
Secret and strange angel!"_

_"He's with me, even now..."_ I sang softly, feeling goosebumps as I felt a cold spot settle around me.

_Was_ he with me, even now?

_"Your hands are cold..."_ Amber sang, taking my hands.

_"All around me..."_ I whispered, my voice faltering... Oh God, it really _was_ all around me...

_"Your face, Christine, it's white..."_

"It frightens me..."

I sang, and truthfully, felt fear bubble up within me.

_"Don't be frightened..."_ Amber sang, taking my hand gently in hers. Could she really see how truly frightened I was? Or was she merely acting out her role?

For a moment, there was silence.

The quiet seemed to last for far longer than it should, and in the absence of noise, I thought I could hear someone breathing. The breathing was calm, steady, and _very_ close, sending more chills up and down my spine as I swore I could feel the breaths fan across the fabric of my blouse.

Suddenly, the room seemed to erupt with loud applause as I saw the other students stand up, clapping and cheering. Even Madame Perrier stood up, adjusting her glasses before setting her gaze on us. small smile tugged at her lips.

"_Brava! Bravissima!" _Madame Perrier repeated. "Now, everyone, pipe down! We're just getting started, after all. Now, everyone, give me your undivided attention..."

I stopped listening after that, closing my eyes. My immediate world was enveloped in pitch blackness, giving me some relief from the glaringly bright overhead lights. I could feel my breathing growing more shallow and rapid, and I felt a dull pain forming in my forehead. I groaned. _Not another migraine._

_No wonder I feel so odd. I must be having some sort of aura before this one, _I thought. Even in darkness, colors seemed to spottilate and swirl on my vision, a mix of greens, purples, blues...and yellow.

With a sigh, I opened my eyes and finally listened to Madame Perrier ramble on about how, and where, she wanted the extras, and every detail exact to her specifications.

Yet still, I could feel a pair of eyes, watching me...but I tried to ignore the creeped out feelings it gave me, trying to focus solely on the Madame's words, as Amber and I trotted down the stairs, and back to our seats.

Little did I know, a pair of yellow eyes indeed watched me from above...

* * *

**Disclaimer:** _Rise of the Guardians_ and all related literary characters are © 2013 to Dreamworks and William Joyce. This is an unauthorized work of fiction, and should not be regarded as canon or real in any way. The Black Phantom, all unrelated characters, are © 2013 to me, and are not be used in any other works of fanfiction not authorized or written by me without my permission.


	3. Look With Your Heart

**Author's Note:** Thank you all for your reviews, watches, and favorites!

In this chapter, we have a few verses from the titular song, "Look With Your Heart", from Weber's _Love Never Dies_, his sequel to _Phantom of the Opera_. We also have a mention of the ever-classic "On My Own" from _Les Misérables._

I hope you guys enjoy it!

* * *

**- THE BLACK PHANTOM -**

_Chapter 3: Look With Your Heart_

* * *

It had nearly been one long, torturous year since Pitch had been defeated by the Guardians.

For the most part, the Nightmare King was having one hell of a time..._literally._

Even after his defeat, those_ stupid_ Guardians wouldn't give up their pursuit of him. In the months since his defeat at last Easter, each of them had tracked him down every now and again...especially that equally _stupid_ boy, Jack Frost, who had nothing better to do with his time than be a childish imbecile.

Unlike the other Guardians, Jack didn't have to make items or oversee a large workforce of thousands to distribute presents or eggs to keep children believing in him. Nor did he have to work nightly to bring good dreams to children, like the Sandman, or to make sure that every last Baby Tooth was exchanging teeth for coins, like the Tooth Fairy.

No, Jack was by far the worst of the lot...from what Pitch could tell, his only brief respite seemed to be during the winter months, when Jack was often times busy creating snow days and playing with those pitiful children...bringing them such weak emotions such as 'hope' and 'fun'.

Those little rugrats had once spent their days fearing him...and now _Jack Frost_, of all the spirits, had taken that away.

Growling, Pitch paced in his underground lair, feeling his heart harden with hate as he recalled everything that had happened.

Once, Pitch recalled, he had garnered respect from all the other spirits, including the infamous Guardians, through fear. Once, even the infamous Jack Frost had been afraid of his power and might, his abilities to send terror into the hearts and minds of both mortals and immortals. However, up until when Jack had become a Guardian, Pitch hadn't had any interaction at all with the winter spirit. He had heard of Jack Frost, of course, but up until his appointment as a Guardian, hardly anyone, including some spirits, had _really_ believed in the boy.

When Pitch had heard that the Man in the Moon had appointed Jack as a Guardian, he had laughed.

While millions of children believed in the "big four" - Santa Claus, the Easter Bunny, Sandman, and the Tooth Fairy - no one had believed in Jack Frost. Thus, he'd written him off as a weakling, a spirit that was more a detriment to the Guardians than an asset.

Only later, of course, did he find out that he had made a terrible mistake by underestimating Jack.

Now, Pitch was paying the price for his once grand scheme. No one believed in him anymore, but more children were believing in Jack now more than ever. It was Jack who had "saved the day", and he, Pitch, was left with absolutely nothing.

"Why must you do this to me?" Pitch yelled, glancing up at the now gaping hole that led into his home. "Why must you _humiliate_ me?"

Full of raw, painful anger, his words were directed at the full moon, which seemed to stare forlornly back.

"Why won't you _speak_ to me?" Pitch roared, his face twisting. "Even someone like _you _wouldn't do this to me!"

He paused, then spread his arms.

_"SPEAK TO ME!"_ he screamed to the open, night sky.

As usual, there was nothing but silence in return.

"So this is how you treat your enemies?" Pitch yelled, "So much for the good, kind, _noble_ Man in the Moon! You're nothing more than a farce, just like your precious Guardians!"

Pitch paused again, dropping his arms, and narrowing his eyes.

"So much for all of your promises, old friend," Pitch said lowly, his voice laced with venom.

Suddenly, the moon began to shine. Luminous, silvery light seemed to slowly come forth, enveloping a wide-eyed Pitch in its silvery light.

_"Finally,"_ Pitch muttered, "I was beginning to think that you had ignored me...hmm? What's that?"

Another pause, and Pitch suddenly broke out into laughter.

"_Really?_ That's your response? To just accept my defeat, forgive the Guardians, and move on? Old friend, have you forgotten all about me so quickly?" Pitch continued, "Well, I'm afraid that's not going to happen. You of all, mortal and immortal, should know that I cannot do that...unless you've forgotten who it was who put you on that moon."

"Old friend...we've been playing this game for a very, very long time," Pitch added, his voice oddly calm now. "You have played the white knight, while I have played the black king...for centuries now, we have played our strategies, vying for the planet, and the children of Earth. Yet you and I both know that there must be balance...that every coin must have two sides...that dark must balance out the light... that fear must balance out faith...and that even I must balance out the Guardians. Such is the way of things."

The light shone again, seemingly brighter.

However, Pitch's expression seemed to darken.

"Of course," Pitch said bitterly. "You just _had_ to bring her up. If you hadn't taken Seraphina, none of this would have happened!"

The light seemed to glow even brighter, but Pitch raised his hand, slicing though it with shadows. His eyes hardened into cold, stony amber orbs.

_"ENOUGH!"_ Pitch bellowed. "I will _not _take this from you! You have taken _everything_ I have ever held dear, including my own daughter! Now, I will take your own children away from _you!"_

With that outburst, the moon's light faded back to normal, leaving Pitch alone...and heaving with fury.

"Let's see how you cope with _your_ most precious child being taken from you, old friend!" Pitch snarled.

Waving his arm, he enveloped himself in a cloak of shadows, soaring out of the entrance, and exit, to his lair. He shot up through the broken bed frame that once, albeit poorly, masked that entrance and exit, and landed swiftly on the grass.

Taking advantage of the shadows, Pitch seemed to sprint into a glide at a mach pace, his seething anger further fueling his powers.

"Now...to Burgess, Pennsylvania," Pitch spoke lowly to himself, his eyes ahead as he sailed through the trees. "That's Jack's favorite little town, isn't it? Well, it's time to...shake things up a bit..."

Surprisingly, Pitch's lair was actually not that far from Burgess, located deep within a local wood a few miles out. Thus, his speedy traveling went quickly, and eventually, Pitch shrank his form to the shadows on the ground, moving even quicker.

"Now...where should I start first?..." Pitch mused, finally moving in the direction of what appeared to be a college campus. Ordinarily, Pitch steered clear of such places, as most were grown children who didn't happen to believe in him. However, passing through the university would lead to a straight track to the town, and...

He heard a voice.

It was soft, and barely audible, but it was enough to stop Pitch in his tracks for a few seconds. Then, after a pause, he moved again.

Then he heard the voice again, only louder.

Then he heard the voice again, only louder.

_"Love's a curious thing, it often comes disguised  
Look at love the wrong way, it goes unrecognized..."_

Pausing again, Pitch stopped to listen...a memory, deep within his mind, began to stir...

"Seraphina...?" Pitch whispered to himself. That voice...

The voice was soft, and it was sweet...

_"So look with your heart, and not with your eyes  
The heart understands, the heart never lies  
Believe what it feels, and trust what it shows  
Look with your heart, the heart always knows  
Love is not always beautiful, not at the start..."_

Soothing and calming, the singer's voice seemed to placate some of the rage that stirred within his chest...she, for it was indeed a female singer, seemed to sing from her own heart.

Suddenly curious, Pitch, as part of the shadows, followed the girl's voice to a building not too far away...and Pitch easily floated up the wall, seeping in through the shadows through the window and into her room.

Though the room was dimly lit, Pitch still stuck to the shadows. As he settled himself into hiding, he heard the sound of water in the other room...the bathroom...the girl must be taking a shower, and probably singing in it. Yet, for the time being, Pitch felt content to sit there, listening to her voice...something about the song itself, and the way that she sang it, seemed to be something he couldn't just ignore.

_"So open your arms, and close your eyes tight  
Look with your heart, and when it finds love, your heart will be right..."_

As her voice suddenly trailed off, Pitch could hear the sound of faucets creaking shut and water stopping.

After a few moments of silence, the doorknob opened with a click.

Humming to herself, the girl switched off the lights and turned as Pitch's eyes raked her form, studying her intently. She seemed to have curves in all the right places, especially her...she turned again, seemingly staring right at Pitch.

He felt a sharp intake of breath. It was indeed a young woman, and she was far more than pretty. All that he could think was that she was beautiful—exquisite. She had luxurious dark brown hair, long and thick. Her eyes were a deep brown, too, and so big and expressive a person could get lost in them. She had a heart shaped face, and full pink lips.

It felt like something pierced his chest when he looked into her eyes.

Then she turned again, walking across the floor and opening her closet. Closing the door behind her and flicking on the lights, after a few minutes, she emerged, wearing fitted pajamas, including white pants, and a close-fitting, pink shirt. Putting the towel on the closet doorknob, the girl crossed the room again and climbed into bed, shifting under the covers.

Yet Pitch couldn't take his eyes off of her.

After some time, she appeared to fall asleep...and the familiar, golden strands of the Sandman's work entered the window and worked their magic.

She was dreaming...

Hesitating, Pitch found the sudden, strong impulse to just go up to her and see her closer. She certainly didn't look anything like his Seraphina, but her voice...it sounded so very similar...

Finally, after a few seconds of thought, he glided to the young woman's bedside.

From the looks of it, she appeared to be dreaming about something...Pitch wasn't quite sure what it was, but she was dreaming of a beautiful young woman in Victorian clothing with another man in the same period dress. However, the man appeared to have some sort of mask covering his face...

"Ah, yes...the Phantom of the Opera," Pitch said lowly, watching as the two golden sand figures opened their mouths in song.

"Hmm...I wonder..." Pitch added, leaning forward to examine the dream further.

Slowly, he pointed his finger and touched the golden sand. As soon as his finger touched it, it formed a black spot...one that seemed to get larger at first, before shrinking again. Pitch frowned.

If he was going to do this, he needed to do it quickly. His powers were barely strong enough to begin with anymore.

Closing his eyes, Pitch seemed to merge his form with the shadows, sinking swiftly as black sand and merging himself with the young woman's dream.

After that first night, Pitch had decided to stay in Burgess for a few days.

However, a few days turned into a few weeks as he tried to find Jack Frost...and failed.

On top of that, there seemed to be one major obstacle to him even facing Jack, once he found the little bugger.

The first obstacle was obvious: he was far too weak and lacked that power he used to have to take Jack on, as well as catch him off guard, and to take him down the same way that he taken him down. After all, no one truly believed in him anymore...

...no one, save for maybe the girl.

The first time he had entered her dream, she had noticed his presence straight away. It had quite a while since he had tried anything of this caliber...especially not since he had learned to turn dreams into Fearlings, having the Fearlings do most of his work for him. However, while in the Dark Ages, his presence was so strong that it usually, and often times, would terrify people out of their sleep with nightmares, he was far too weak to do anything of the sort.

Instead, he took a back seat view of this young woman's dream, usually startling her sleeping mind enough that most times, she would wake up not long after he entered the dream.

Oddly enough, since he started entering the dreams, she had begun having the same dream, over and over again...every time, he was able to manage to hear her sing the same song, as beautifully as ever, before she woke up.

Even when she woke, he would confine himself to the shadows in her room. Every day, he watched her go about her daily business, keeping himself hidden...and following her around, since he was bored, and had nothing better to do...and something about her voice drew him in. He couldn't quite explain it, but there was something about her voice that he just had to hear...perhaps it was that it was so similar to Seraphina's. Yet even Pitch knew that this woman was hardly his daughter.

No...this girl would never measure up to his Seraphina.

Yet...she was so much...more...than the average mortal. How else could she have that voice...?

There were a few things right off the bat he learned about the young woman: one, she had a house cat who she called 'Dusty' whom she fed every morning, and it was a black cat with yellow eyes. Pitch already seemed to like her style in selecting pets.

He also learned that she had an annoying dark skinned companion, who she called Yvonne, who as apparently her best friend. While Pitch could tolerate the young woman, he, on the other hand, found he could not tolerate her 'friend'. The woman would just yap, and yap, and yap...until Pitch's patience was sorely run thin, and if he could, he would have reached out and strangled her.

Another thing he gleaned was that auditions for, what would you know, the Phantom of the Opera itself were coming up in a few weeks. It was apparently the girl's most favorite theater production of all time, and she was excited, and nervous, at the same time.

Perhaps the most important thing he learned was her name.

Amelia Lake. The name had a nice ring to it, and it was a very pretty name, to go with a very pretty young woman.

On top of that, Amelia seemed to fit her name very well. From what Pitch saw of her, she was intelligent, very smart, dignified, self-assured, confident, sarcastic at times...but most of all, she acted in a way that most young mortals didn't act anymore. Amelia carried herself like a true lady, displaying sureness and confidence, and her knowledge of many things shone through...and she was also quite the creative person, creating interesting, intriguing works of art.

Much to Pitch's satisfied pleasure, Amelia began to work on sculptures and paintings in which his influence seemed to pervade. In particular, she seemed to constantly sketch his visage in one of her notebooks. In fact, she was quite good at remembering things...and Pitch was more than satisfied to see that she drew a bust of him to look almost identical to his actual self.

Perhaps...perhaps, Pitch thought to himself...maybe, just maybe, he could help this girl start believing in him.

Already, she showed some of the clear signs of belief...but her faith wasn't solidified or strong enough yet to the point where she could actually see him. He would need to help 'push' her a little down that path, to make sure that her fear increased...and with her fear, so did her belief in him.

Part of him also, strangely enough, desired for her to believe in him...well, because he actually felt the desire to talk to her. To make her know that the Boogeyman was indeed, not just a part of her dreams...but real. He wanted to make her believe in her so he could talk to her...to make her know that he wasn't just some bad dream, but that he existed. That he was here with her, even now.

Above all, he genuinely felt lonely.

Perhaps...perhaps, he just wanted not to feel so _alone_.

Every night, she would sing...not to him, but he felt every word, every emotion in her music.

One night, Amelia seemed particularly upset after a long day of school. Recently, Pitch had also learned, particularly from that irritable talking head, about some young man that Amelia apparently was interested in romantically. Pitch oddly found himself perturbed by this fact...and even more so that this man seemed to not even notice Amelia at all. Yet Amelia seemed to light up just at the mention of this man's name or his presence...

After settling into bed, she sat Indian style on top of the covers, oddly silent for several seconds.

Pitch did not like the look she had on her face at all...her face slowly sank into a sad one, her eyes cast downwards.

_On my own...  
Pretending he's beside me  
All alone...  
I walk with him till morning  
Without him,  
I feel his arms around me...  
And when I lose my way I close my eyes  
And he has found me..."_

Closing his eyes, Pitch felt something bubble up within his soul, as her words seemed to sear into him. Her voice was depressed, but hopeful...and he paused, taking a breath. Only that breath seemed to turn into a sniffle.

Pitch did not like where this was going at all.

_"In the rain the pavement shines like silver,  
All the lights are misty in the river...  
In the darkness, the trees are full of starlight,  
And all I see is him and me forever and forever..."_

Sniffling again, Amelia paused, and closed her eyes. A small, glistening tear escaped her eyes and ran down her face.

She was lonely...and absolutely miserable...just like him. He couldn't help but feel every moment of her pain, every moment of her sadness, and every moment of her suffering. The way she sang the lyrics...soft and wistful, describing the beauty of a dark night and its wonders...he found himself truly connecting with her.

That night, he just knew he had to talk to her, at least once...even if she ran away, screaming in fear, at the sight of him.

Every night, he would enter her dreams, conserving his power so that he could hear her sing...and every day, Amelia practiced for the upcoming auditions.

Soon, he hoped that she would see him for real.

* * *

**Two Nights Later - Amelia's POV**

_Night had fallen, and as I slept, I began to dream._

_This dream picked up where the last one left off, with me, again in the stunning white gown, in front of the mirror, looking at the dark and mysterious man in front of me._

_He held out his hand, looking down at me expectantly. Yet all I could feel was paralyzing fear...a true terror that seemed t seep into my very bones, making my entire body feel akin to a big block of lead._

_"Amelia..." he spoke softly. His mention of my real name seemed to send a jolt through me, shocking me suddenly out of my paralysis._

_After a moment's hesitation, I suddenly reached out..._

_...and took his long, smooth, slender hand in my own small, delicate one. His hand was cold to the touch, sending shivers up my arm, yet there was something alien, and yet strangely comforting, about his touch at the same time._

_I looked up, into his luminous, ocher eyes, along with their pitch black pupils. The irises seemed akin to the tree sap, amber, perfectly encasing the large, dark pupils within them. Expressive eyebrows moved, forming a certain countenance on his face...which, as he led me through the large mirror, was soon veiled by the shadows._

_The mirror itself seemed to turn to liquid itself. It appeared solid, but as the figure led me through it, it seemed akin to a bubble. As I passed through, the moving glass rippled around me, forming a scene not unlike that of dropping a rock into a pond._

_Soon, I found myself singing as well...a song that was, by now, all too familiar to me._

_"In sleep he sang to me,  
In dreams he came...  
That voice which calls to me,  
And speaks my name...  
And do I dream again?  
For now I find  
The Phantom Of The Opera is there  
Inside my mind..."_

The man led me down what appeared to be marble stone steps, and the air around me was cool and dank. Much to my horror, I couldn't see much in front of us: he appeared to be a pitch black tunnel with no light source, save for the glow of the man's yellow eyes.  
Yet he led me on, seemingly confident of where he was heading.

Then, he began to sing as well. His voice flowed in an otherworldly manner...deep, but not too much so...and the way he sang held a graceful, poetic beauty...yet at the same time, they held an ancient, confident power.

"Sing once again with me  
Our strange duet  
My power over you  
Grows stronger yet  
And though you turn from me  
To glance behind..."

Feeling fearful, I indeed glanced behind, but I turned back, gazing into his eyes. The golden orbs seemed to reassure me, as I felt him slightly squeeze my hand.

"The Phantom of the Opera is there...inside your mind!"

I woke suddenly, my spinal cord feeling almost like it snapped up.

Breathing heavily, it felt like every inch of my body buzzed with newly found electricity. Looking up, I glanced around me, shivering, as I pulled the sheet over my chest. The room was nearly pitch black in itself, but I saw a pair of yellow eyes off in the corner, watching me.

"Oh, Dusty, there you are," I said, leaning forward, "You almost gave me a scare, there."

"Not quite," came a familiar voice.

* * *

**Disclaimer: **_Rise of the Guardians_ and all related literary characters are © 2013 to Dreamworks and William Joyce. This is an unauthorized work of fiction, and should not be regarded as canon or real in any way. The Black Phantom, all unrelated characters, are © 2013 to me, and are not be used in any other works of fanfiction not authorized or written by me without my permission.


	4. I Whistle a Happy Tune

**Author's Note:** Thank you all so much for your favorites, alerts, and reviews!

Yes, this chapter is named after the song from _The King and I_. Why? Read, and you shall know...

You didn't think this story would be all about romance now, did you? Well, guess what, some very special people make an appearance...dun dun _dun!_

* * *

**- THE BLACK PHANTOM -**

_Chapter 4: I Whistle a Happy Tune_

* * *

**Amelia's POV**

I opened my mouth to scream as a wave of terror washed over me. However, I made no sound, and as the being in front of me seemed to slowly materialize from the shadows, I felt my throat close up.

My mind raced through thoughts at a million miles per second.

It was _him!_ The man from my dream! He was _here!_ He was _real!_

_...bloody freaking Hell!_

Suddenly, I felt myself spring into action. The man...thing...whatever he, or it was, appeared to be sill forming himself from the shadows. I still had time to ward him off...and from what I'd seen on ghosts and demons before, hopefully I could do something to dissipate him.

Reaching around swiftly, I grabbed one of my pillows, whipping around to chuck it at him.

When I turned back, however, he was mere inches away from my face, grinning wolfishly at me.

I froze, feeling as though my fear had stopped in my chest.

The next thing I knew, I felt a sudden, powerful grip on my right wrist, preventing my right hand, with the pillow in it, from moving. Startled, I felt my hand release almost instantly, hearing the pillow drop softly off the bed.

"Oh, Amelia," the man began, "Such a brave girl...and yet, so afraid. Ah, the fear I can smell coming off of you! ...it's so delicious to be able to have someone be afraid of me for once."

I squeaked as he suddenly pulled me close, appearing to take a long, deep whiff of my neck.

"Yes indeed...so much fear...mmm..." he whispered lowly. His cool breath fanned across my skin, sending shivers up my spine.

Jerking, I was able to break his grip, as he seemed far too preoccupied with my scent to keep a hold on me. With a sudden rush of adrenaline, I found myself backing up, panicking, on the bed. Looking over my shoulder, I lunged, grabbing one of the lamps on my nightstand and ripping it from the desk.

"Stay back!" I barked, suddenly finding my voice, as I brandished the lamp. "I don't know who the hell you think you are-"

"Oh, yes," the man added, his smile vanishing. "How rude of me...I forgot to introduce myself...though you may already know me as the Boogeyman."

"The...the Boogeyman isn't real!" I nearly stuttered.

In response, the man merely let out a loud laugh.

"Oh, Amelia...if you _truly_ believed that, then I wouldn't be here in front of you, would I?"

"You're...you're not real," I added, feeling my voice start to crack. "You're nothing but a dream..."

"A dream?" the Boogeyman - or, at least that's what he called himself - responded. Once again, he leaned forward, causing me to shrink back. "Dear Amelia...don't you understand? To you, I _am_ real...you _believe_ in me."

"I...I _don't_ believe in you," I replied, my voice faltering.

"Ah, dear Amelia...but you _do,"_ the Boogeyman said, his voice dropping to a soft, alluring whisper.

He leaned in closer, again, inches from my face, as I sat there, paralyzed, and straight up against my wooden headboard.

"Somewhere...deep, deep down in the depths of your heart and soul...you believe in me," he added lowly, pointing to where my heart would be. "Because of that, I am _real_ to you."

I couldn't believe in him...I just _couldn't_...this wasn't possible! Yet another thought slipped into my mind, from when I was singing with Amber yesterday... _'Stories like this can't come true!'_ If ever there was a truer line in that play I could relate to, it was that.

The Boogeyman was just that: a story. Yet here he was in front of me, as real as ever...I could hear him. I could see his yellow eyes, looking triumphantly at me as though he had won some sort of great victory...and I could feel the cold touch of his pallid skin...his breath on my skin...

That last thought made me shiver even more, and I felt my cheeks grow hot. Pulling the sheet suddenly up, I glared at him.

He merely looked back at me, amused.

For a few moments, there was silence...yet he seemed to hover back towards the edge of the bed, where he appeared to sit. However, I couldn't see most of his tall, skinny frame...it was obscured by an ethereal robe that seemed to be made of shadows itself.

_I must be dreaming...or hallucinating,_ I figured. _Yet he looks and feels so...real! Think, Amelia...what are you going to do?_

After a moment of thought, I had the answer.

_I'm going to have a little fun with this. Yes! Yes, I am. I'm not afraid at all...after all, he can't hurt me if he's just a dream or a vision..._

Slowly...very slowly...I felt my terrorized, clamped insides begin to loosen.

I raised an eyebrow at him, but he did nothing.

"So...I guess it was you who was in the theater, then?" I ventured, breaking the silence.

"Ah! So you're a smart one," Pitch replied, looking a little too pleased. "Though I had already deduced that, as well."

"Well...I can be pretty intelligent...wait, _what?"_ I began, and then stopped, realization dawning on me. "You've been following me around, haven't you?"

"And what might make you think _that,_ dear Amelia? What would a powerful, ancient being like me want with a small, _insignificant_ girl such as you?" Pitch countered breezily, leaning on his side. He studied his nails briefly...and out of the shadows, I saw him flex a pant-clad leg over the side of the mattress.

"Well," I responded, straightening myself as bravely as I could muster, "If I'm so insignificant, _Boogeyman_, then why are you even here? Surely a poor, _little_ girl such as me holds not a candle of interest to alight your sights."

"Ah," Pitch replied, looking up. The moment his eyes met mine, I felt a jolt of electricity go up my spine. "You give yourself too little credit, Amelia...unfortunately for me, you seem to be the only one who believes in me anymore."

"And why would that be? You're certainly famous," I quipped.

_"Was,"_ he corrected, looking a bit perturbed and annoyed by my point. "Though let's talk about something else, shall we?"

"I would _love_ to chat," I replied, rolling my eyes, "But...it's five o' clock in the morning, and usually, I wake up at 8 o' clock. If you have been following me around, you would also know that I have class and theater practice. I need my beauty sleep, after all."

"...you have a very good point," the Boogeyman conceded, then moved his legs around so that he was sitting straight up.

He rose, turning to face me.

"Well, dear Amelia, I believe it is 'good night'...for now," the Boogeyman spoke, moving towards me. I felt my entire body get more tense the closer he got.

"Still fearful, I see...well, now that I have proven to you, beyond a shadow of a doubt, that I am, indeed, real...I suppose we'll have to fix that..." he began to say, his voice getting lower and lower. "With that, Amelia, I bid thee 'adieu'."

With a swift motion, the shadows around him seemed to twirl and consume him, swallowing him into the darkness from whence he came.

Just to make sure he was gone, I squeezed my eyes tight. After several seconds of silence, I opened them again.

No one but me was there.

Mulling over all of this in my racing thoughts, I turned on my side, settling myself under the covers. Underneath my eyes, I could feel my skin drooping in what felt like bags, as my exhausted, tired muscles could finally relax.

Closing my eyes, I soon drifted off to sleep...and this time, there were no dreams.

* * *

"You seem a little bit..._quiet_ today."

I poked my food with a fork in response to Yvonne's clearly discerned comment. I merely shrugged.

"So...anything that, y'know, you wanna talk about?" Yvonne queried, clasping her hands in front of her.

Shaking my head, I looked up at her and shrugged again.

"I don't really have much to talk about."

A lie, of course...in reality, my mind was bursting at the seams with things I wanted to talk about...most notably, the fact that the Boogeyman was bloody _real_. Then again, everything had seemed a blur last night...and I woke up safe in sound in my bed at my usual eight o' clock in the morning, and there was no Boogeyman in sight.

At first, I wondered if it had all been a dream...and in fact I was still heavily debating it with myself. My mind seemed to deal with it rather well, brushing it off as a possible dream where I had been 'in a dream within a dream', so to speak. Such wouldn't have been the first time it happened to me, but it was usually rare on my part.

Deep down, however, I still felt uneasy. The other part of me, nestled far below and somewhere in the pit of my stomach, told me otherwise.

"Is that so?" came a familiar voice, and I nearly jerked out of my seat.

Looking up, I saw the Boogeyman, as dapper in his dress of shadows as always, leaning over Yvonne. His height was so tall that he was several inches even over Yvonne, who was taller than me by four inches. He grinned, bearing his full set of...remarkably well cared for, pearly white teeth.

"Are you alright, 'Lia?" Yvonne said suddenly, reaching her hands out as I jerked.

I was about to respond back, when Mr. Boogeyman himself began to speak.

"By the way...only _you_ can see me, you know," he said airily, studying his nails again. "It's part of the whole...'to you, I'm _real_' deal. Since you're the only one who believes in me...and your airhead of a friend clearly treats me like a joke...well, you get the gist."

_"'Lia!"_

I snapped my head around, only to meet the worried, brown eyes of a very concerned Yvonne.

"I'm..fine," I managed to say, and, at least to me, it sounded not bad.

"Are you sure? You seem a little...'not here', today. If I didn't know you any better, I'd say you were on drugs or something..."

Meanwhile, I glanced at the Boogeyman, who was taking pleasure in parodying Yvonne as she talked. He mouthed the words silently as she said them, putting on such a funny look that I had to stifle a laugh.

"...and what do you keep looking at?" Yvonne demanded, looking over her shoulder.

"Oh...um...nothing..." I said, almost too innocently, watching humorously as the Boogeyman ducked on Yvonne's other side, gesturing as though he were hanging himself. "Nothing at all..."

He blew into Yvonne's hair, just lightly enough so she couldn't tell a discernible difference.

"It's not my hair, is it?" Yvonne said, reaching up and touching her thick, curly locks with both hands. "I swear, having an afro is _really_getting to be a pain these days..."

The Boogeyman parodied Yvonne again, reaching up to touch his hair. This time, I laughed, covering my mouth to prevent from spitting out my food.

"What? What is it?" Yvonne demanded again, "What's so funny?"

"It's nothing," I said, purposefully looking serious. "It's just the Boogeyman messing with you."

"Ha, ha, ha," Yvonne said flatly, "Nice try, but believe me...if it were the Boogeyman, I would know."

"Sure you would," I teased, resuming my salad eating with new ease in my stomach.

I looked up again after taking a bite, but the Boogeyman seemed to have vanished...for now.

After lunch, I excused myself from Yvonne to go outside for a bit to sit at a table. bringing my phone, I didn't pay attention to where I was walking as I headed towards a nearby metal table, scrolling through my Facebook app.

"By the way...my name is not _'the Boogeyman'_," the titular figure pointed out, suddenly at my side. I had to suppress a yelp of surprise. "It's Pitch...Pitch Black, to be precise. Though you can call me 'Pitch'...most everyone does...well, save for most of the mortals."

"I'm not like 'most mortals', then, am I?" I replied, to which Pitch merely chuckled.

"No...I suppose not," Pitch said, folding his hands behind his back.

As I walked, he followed me step for step at my right side. As I reached the table - thankfully in an area that was deserted, and no one was there to question my sanity of seemingly talking to myself - I sat. Pitch, on the other hand, took the liberty of seating himself across from me.

"So..._Pitch_...why are you still here?" I inquired, meeting his golden gaze. Oddly enough, in daylight, the streams of light seemed to shine right through him, but the area under the umbrella over the table was enough to cast a vast shadow over him.

"What could someone like me...besides believing in you, of course...have to interest the likes of an ancient, feared being?" I added.

"Well, for starters...you see...I'm a bit lonely," Pitch replied smoothly, placing a hand on his chest to emphasize himself. "I have been, for almost a year...but, never mind that. Let's just say..." he looked away briefly, then back at me. "...I have my reasons."

"What, did Mrs. Boogeyman walk into sunlight?" I joked, only to be met by Pitch's unimpressed expression. "Okay, I'll admit it, that was...pretty bad."

"I believe that would be _vampires_, dear Amelia...and no matter how pale I look, I don't drink human blood..." Pitch said, then smiled creepily. "...often."

I shuddered at the look he gave me, like he was looking me like something to eat.

"Oookay...moving on..." I said, "So...let me get this straight. You're lonely."

"I believe we've already clarified that, yes."

"Hmm," I said, pondering a bit. "I suppose that would make sense...given you tend to cause fear and terror in children...and some very childish adults...everywhere."

_"Used_ to," Pitch once again clarified, "Not anymore...however, you are correct."

"Then," I added, "What do you find...erm..._interesting_...about me?"

"For one, dear Amelia, you're not nearly as insufferable as your 'friend'," Pitch pointed out, "And I suppose I could bear your company. You seem relatively intelligent...for a mortal...and relatively brave, considering how quickly you seem to have abandoned your fear of me."

_"'If you look into your own heart, and you find nothing wrong there, what is there to worry about? What is there to fear?'"_ I quoted, grinning at him. "As a wise _mortal_ named Confucius once said."

"Oh, I thought that sounded familiar," Pitch replied airily, "I believe he also once said, _'Real knowledge is to know the extent of one's ignorance.'"_

_"Touché,"_ I admitted.

"You also have...quite a nice singing voice," Pitch added, "It is quite pleasant to listen to."

"Oh, really?" I responded, "Then I'm sure you'll love to hear this song..."

I cleared my throat, and began to sing.

_"Whenever I feel afraid,  
I hold my head erect,  
And whistle a happy tune...  
So no one will suspect  
I'm afraid!"_

Pitch raised an eyebrow. _'Is this supposed to impress me?'_ his look all but said.

_"While shivering in my shoes,  
I strike a careless pose  
And whistle a happy tune,  
And no one ever knows  
I'm afraid!_

The result of this deception  
Is very strange to tell  
For when I fool the people  
I fear I fool myself as well!

I whistle a happy tune  
And ev'ry single time  
The happiness in the tune  
Convinces me that I'm not afraid!"

"Very good," Pitch said, mock clapping. "Though I don't quite think whistling magically makes fear disappear, however."

"Sometimes it does...at least, it did in the singer's case in the play," I defended.

"You really _do_ have a lot to learn about fear, don't you?" Pitch asked.

"Then why don't you teach me, _Boogeyman?"_

* * *

_"ALERT! ALERT! ALERT!"_

A mechanical voice screamed, as red, police-like lights blared and flashed suddenly. Sirens and bells wailed and whistled, setting off a clamor of noise.

_"ALERT! PITCH IS BACK! THIS IS CODE RED! I REPEAT, CODE RED!"_

Suddenly, a gigantic hand was smashing on one of the sirens in a fist, shattering it. The Spirit of Joy, Nicholas St. North, was grabbing an axe, walking steadily into his main chamber.

At the center of the chamber sat a large, moving globe apparently made of metal, with millions of glowing, yellow lights on it on aptly shaped continents. To the sides of the slowly revolving machine, representing the Earth with the finest make of the greatest crafts and toymaker in the world, were the sirens, which looked surprisingly toy-like.

Within seconds, the blue-and-green-and-pink multicolored hues of shimmering feathers alighted upon the room as the Tooth Fairy entered. Moments after her was the Sandman, riding on streams of golden sand...and after him, was the large, gray pooka, better known as the Easter Bunny, as a hole materialized in the wooden floor, the rabbit popping out and landing on solid ground.

Last but not least was the white-haired winter spirit, Jack Frost, as he swooped into the building from the open ceiling.

_"SILENCE!"_ North boomed. Suddenly, the sirens stopped flashing, and all went silent.

"Is it true? Is Pitch back?" Tooth asked nervously, flitting from place to place. "Oh no, no, no..."

"I'm wondering the same thing, mate," Bunnymund added. "Actually, what I'm wonderin' is, how in the _bloody 'ell_ is Pitch back?"

Meanwhile, Sandy looked worried as well, forming a multitude of sand images above his head.

"Yeah," Jack agreed, "For once, I actually agree with the Easter wallaby over there."

_"What_ did ya call me, mate?" Bunny replied dangerously, reaching over his back to retrieve his boomerangs, as he glared, taking a step towards Jack. "Mate, I ain't no _wallaby."_

"Now, now everyone!" North said in his Russian accent, approaching the group as he raised his hands. "I am very sure that we can figure this out."

Moving towards the globe, North began to examine it. Mimicking North's actions, the Guardians soon gathered around the globe in a loose circle, looking at all of the lights.

"I dunno...I don't see any lights going out..." Bunnymund began, "Are you sure this ain't some false alarm?"

"My Pitch Identification Turbo Calculator and Hounder is never false!" North protested.

"Doesn't that spell out _P.I.T.C.H.?"_ Jack pointed out.

"Yes...yes it does," North said, "And that, my friend, it the point. Pitch is the oldest and greatest foe of the Guardians. He and his activity must be monitored and observed at all times, to protect the children of the world."

"Wait!" Tooth suddenly interrupted, hovering over the North America part of the globe. "I think I found something!"

The other Guardians rushed over to her side, and she pointed out a small, black dot on the map.

"That's it," North said suddenly.

"What is it, exactly?" Bunnymund asked, tipping his head. "It doesn't look like anything to me, mate."

"That, my friend," North replied grimly, "Is the first, and so far, only, person to believe in Pitch. The Nightmare King 'as gotten someone to believe in him."

"Wait...but...how is that even possible?" Jack inquired, looking at the map, squinting his eyes. "Didn't we defeat him last year? I thought no one believed in him anymore. Jamie and his friends helped us with that."

"We did," North replied, "But I am afraid that defeating a being so dark and well-known as Pitch was not easy as it looked. We all learned that the hard way."

"Jack," Tooth pointed out, "It also isn't impossible to go from no one believing in you, to getting people to believe...especially children. You should know that with Jamie. You got him and his friends to believe in you, even when no one had ever believed in you before."

"You have a point," Jack admitted, looking up at the black blot on the globe. He squinted his eyes, and then, suddenly, his eyes widened.

"I...I know where that is," Jack said lowly, "That's my home town...Burgess, Pennsylvania."

"Are you sure, Jack?" Tooth asked.

"Absolutely positive," Jack confirmed, pointing his staff at the black dot. "You see that there? That's where Jamie's light was last year. Now, there's someone else who believes...but it's not in us."

"Well, I know one thing," Bunnymund said, putting his boomerangs back. "We've got to uproot the weed before it spreads."

"Very true," North affirmed, "We'll have Jack go investigate."

"Aww, does it have to be me? I was just getting revved up on making it snow on Easter..."

"Oh, just you _try_ to make it snow on Easter, mate. I'll be there...with my egg bombs."

"Bring it on, _wallaby."_

"Oh, that's it! You're on, _Blondie."_

"Specifically speaking, it's white."

"Oh, just _shut up!"_

"Jack," North interrupted, "We need you to go there and see it is who Pitch managed to get to believe in him...and we need to stop him. His methods of getting people to believe in him, and be fearful of him, could be...very dangerous. The more people who believe in him and fear him, the stronger he gets."

"Before he spreads that belief to other children," Tooth added, fluttering up and touching Jack's shoulder in midair. "Jack...what if it's Jamie or one of his friends who could be in danger from Pitch?"

"You're right," Jack agreed, "Burgess is also my hometown...and if Pitch is there...he's trespassing on _my_ turf. I'll go there and find who it is that he's made believe, and make sure that Pitch leaves people alone...once and for all."

* * *

**Disclaimer: **_Rise of the Guardians_ and all related literary characters are © 2013 to Dreamworks and William Joyce. This is an unauthorized work of fiction, and should not be regarded as canon or real in any way. The Black Phantom, all unrelated characters, are © 2013 to me, and are not be used in any other works of fanfiction not authorized or written by me without my permission.


	5. City of Black and White

**Author's Note:** Thank you all so much for your favorites, alerts, and reviews! The song for this chapter is "City of Black and White" by Matt Kearney.

I apologize so much about the delay! I've had my beau's birthday for several days, as well as dealing with the Boston Marathon tragedy, among other things. I won't go into it, but I had people who I knew who were affected by the event - people very close to me, at least once. Please keep all those affected in your prayers.

* * *

**- THE BLACK PHANTOM -**

_Chapter 5: City of Black and White_

* * *

**Pitch's POV**

Just like that, Pitch was snapped back from Amelia's dream.

A person waking up from a dream that he happened to be 'visting' was never quite pleasant, and just as jarring for the dreamer as it was for him. It felt as though he was awakening from a dream himself...even though he, the Nightmare King, never felt the need to sleep, 'dropping in' on the dreams of mortals was always a different story.

In a way, he did dream...or rather, merged with Amelia's dream, becoming a part of it, and, in a way, dreaming along with her.

Well...he _could_ dream, if he wanted to...he shook his head, ridding himself of the thought.

He stayed awake...he _always_ stayed awake. He _needed_ to...else...

He turned his head abruptly at the thought, his neck cracking.

Plus, the last thing he wanted was that chubby little _Sandman_ to visit him, even though he doubted that the fat man would even dare to touch him. After what Pitch had done to him last year, he couldn't blame the Guardian of Dreams.

Naturally slipping back into the dark shadows of Amelia's bedroom, Pitch turned and watched as she seemed to wake up with a start. Shivering, she pulled the sheet up over her chest, and Pitch's eyes were drawn to...he cricked his head the other way, closing his eyes. He was a _gentleman_, much better than that to notice the almost_ scandalous_ pajama top she was wearing...and what lay under it...he let his thoughts wander, focusing instead on her loud, dry gasps.

"I _really_ wish you wouldn't do that."

"Oh? And miss out on all of those _romantic_ dreams?" he teased.

In the shadows, Pitch felt amusement as he saw Amelia's cheeks grow red. The college girl huffed in response and looked away, drawing the sheets with her as she sat up in bed.

"You'll get used to it," Pitch mused aloud, "They always did."

"You've done this before? ...oh, _lovely_," Amelia responded sarcastically, reaching to turn on her lamp light. "Just what I needed to know...I've been having a the Boogeyman mind raping my dreams all these nights."

"Mind _warping_," he corrected, stretching himself up to his full height as he floated towards her bed. "I would _never_ do such a horrible thing to a lady..."

"Oh, but did I _say_ you could do your Vulcan mind...dream...meld thing?"

"Ah, but you didn't even know I existed in the time, let alone _believed_ in me," Pitch pointed out, "Besides, I can't do the dream 'meld', as you put it, unless you allow me to. Otherwise, I can't complete the transition."

"But I didn't even know you existed at the time...so...how would that even work?" Amelia asked.

Pitch shrugged. "My guess is that it involved something else...I _am_ technically an archetype, after all. Perhaps you may not have believed in _me_, per say, but you believed in something akin to me at your core."

"...perhaps," Amelia muttered, reaching for a book on her nightstand. Taking a closer look, Pitch saw the title, as well as the cover.

"_Dracula?_ Well, that explains it," Pitch said, "Why am I not surprised?"

"You," Amelia said, pointing the tip of a bookmark at Pitch. "No judging. I can read what I like, thank you very much. Besides, I'm sure you've read some pretty questionable books yourself."

"Oh, I've read a lot of books...tons of them," Pitch responded, sitting down at the edge of her bed. "I just don't see why you find that dusty old thing as interesting as...oh, say, that new book...you know, the one where the vampires sparkle...what was it again?"

"If you're referring to _Twilight_," Amelia said, all while have buried her nose within the pages of _Dracula_, "Read it once, prefer not to ever again. That _thing_ is an abomination to the world of literature...and a terrible waste of trees, if you ask me."

"Why are you interested in what I have to say? You surely already know how the story goes," Amelia added suddenly, closing the book to look at Pitch pointedly.

"Ah, dear Amelia, that's where you're wrong," Pitch said softly, meeting her haze with soft, golden eyes. "Every book has its own story to tell...and though it may be the same words, it is never quite the same tale."

Amelia seemed to ponder this for a moment.

"I suppose you're right," she agreed, "I know for certain that after I tried reading_ Twilight_ a second time, it was so bad I couldn't even stand it!"

At that, both of them seemed to laugh.

After their laughter has died down a bit, Amelia shifted back under her covers, leaning on her back. Closing her eyes with a sigh, she let out a deep, soft exhale, her chest falling with the breath. When she opened her eyes again, she cracked them open; Pitch was still at the foot of her bed, looking at her intently, his head cocked to the side.

"Oh...please don't tell me you do _that_," Amelia muttered.

"Do what?" Pitch inquired curiously, blinking. He lowered himself on the bed a bit, resting closer to Amelia...however, he made sure not to make contact with her body, not even above the covers.

_"That."_

"I'm afraid you'll have to be a bit more specific," Pitch added curtly.

"Well...staring at me. When I sleep," Amelia replied bluntly, "You know...like Edward Cullen."

Pitch gave her a blank look in response, to which Amelia sighed.

"You know..._Twilight_."

"Oh," Pitch responded, in dull realization. In another moment, however, his eyes narrowed, his lips spreading into a devilish grin.

"What? You mean...like _this?"_

_S_uddenly, his face was barely an inch from Amelia's. His amber, vivid eyes stared directly into her wide, dark ones, his longer, Roman nose thankfully not, though nearly, pressed up against hers. With a little squeak of surprise, Amelia's immediate reaction was to freeze, her big, brown eyes staring into Pitch's ocher irises akin to a deer in headlights.

A moment of silence and stillness passed between them. Finally, Amelia's gaze changed from one of fright, to one more determined and resolved, steeling her countenance. Her scared look hardened into a stoic expression; her lips pursed into a thin, somber line.

"Yes," she said stiffly. "Like _that._ Now, could you please back away a bit?"

With a chuckle, Pitch retreated to his new spot at the edge of her bed, seating himself as he looked at her, amused.

"What are you so amused about, _Boogeyman?"_ Amelia added churlishly, looking quite cross.

"Well, _mortal_, for one, you're quite fun to tease," Pitch said airily, stretching himself out so he rested horizontally at the end of her bed. "Believe it or not, I've never had the pleasure before of having a bit of fun with a human...save for scaring the living daylights out of them, of course."

"But you're the Boogeyman, aren't you? King of Nightmares? Lord of Fear? The thing-that-goes-bump-in-the-night?" Amelia pointed out, "You basically_ live_ to cause terror."

"True," Pitch responded, "But after centuries...no, _millennia_...of doing the same thing, over, and over, and _over_ again...you sort of get tired of it. Gets a bit _repetitive_, you know...sort of like singing the same song, again and again."

"Or having a broken record player."

"Precisely," Pitch added, his eyes seemingly becoming more luminous with satisfaction. He felt glad that for once, _someone_ seemed to know where he was coming from, even if that someone was a mortal.

"So...you're basically saying that you're tired of scaring people all the time?"

"Well, no, not quite," Pitch interjected, holding up his index fingers. Meanwhile, his lower half seemed to turn into shadow, wrapping around the bottom of Amelia's bed and coming to rest, akin to a wisp, on the other side.

"For one, I haven't scared anyone in so long that, admittedly, it felt wonderful to scare someone again. Absolutely wonderful, in fact...brilliant. _Amazing_. Bravissima!" Pitch continued, seeming to savor the memory.

"Did you just say 'Bravissima'?" Amelia asked, arching an eyebrow, "Oh, and by the way, it's not like what you totally just said, you know, I'm not _guttering_ completely right now...nope. Not a chance...not me."

"Oh, did I?" Pitch said suddenly, looking quite innocent, "I believe it means 'the best' in Italian."

"You were totally at my last practice, weren't you?"

"...am I supposed to deny it?" Pitch responded breezily.

"I'll take that as a 'yes'," Amelia replied, "So you _were_ at my practice yesterday! I knew it was you. Your voice sounded totally different from Vic's."

"Did it, now?" Pitch said, suddenly seeming a bit smug. "Well, my voice _would_ be better than any flesh-bound _human's_..."

"I didn't even know the Boogeyman...well, was interested in _singing_, much less had a voice for it," Amelia admitted, rubbing the back of her head. _An amazing voice, at that_, she added in her head. "Why do you sing, anyways? I've never read anything about the Boogeyman suddenly bursting into a musical number."

"Ah, dear Amelia...that's because you've only heard the stories that _they_ had to tell."

With a flick of his hand, Pitch rose from his seat and glided over to the mahogany bookshelf at the opposite end of the wall. Stopping just short of the bookcase, he seemed to hover there for a bit, his hand moving slowly over the dusty tomes as his golden eyes looked over the shelves.

"Ah, here we are," Pitch murmured, picking a golden-bound, hardcover book expertly from the rest.

Moving noiselessly over the carpet back to Amelia's bed, Pitch seated himself in his usual spot, resting the gilded tome in his lap. He looked down at it, his left hand lightly grazing the beautifully painted surface.

"_The Guardians of Childhood?_" Amelia said, glancing at the book, looking surprised. "Wow, I haven't touched that thing since..."

"You were a child?" Pitch pointed out.

"Well...yes," Amelia admitted, looking at it with a fond look in her eyes. "My dad used to read to me every night...he'd tell me stories from that book."

"Do you remember anything from those stories?" Pitch inquired, turning slightly to look at her, intrigued.

"Erm..." Amelia began, squinting her eyes...and finally, she shook her head. "I don't, really...'cept the stories he told about you."

"I would imagine so," Pitch responded, a little bitterly, as he opened the tome in one deft stroke. The book opened to a wonderfully rendered page, painted in the same fashion as the cover...but showing his own image.

Glancing at the page, Amelia looked a little shocked when she saw that angry, fierce, and narrowed yellow eyes seemed to stare back at her. Ocher orbs seemed to stare into her very soul from the page...cold, hateful, and full of an unspoken, frightening malice.

"But...but that can't be you," Amelia began, looking at it, stymied. "You aren't nearly so...um...so..."

"Furious looking?" Pitch once again interjected, and Amelia nodded.

"Oh, believe me, at that time, I _was_," Pitch began, turning the page as he glanced down. This time, it seemed to display four figures, shrouded in a halo of brilliant light, locked in battle with the Nightmare King, with the latter plunged in shadow.

"Once upon a time, I was the Boogeyman from these stories...callous, cruel, and hateful...oh, I hated those bloody _Guardians_ so much! ...but after thousands of years...battle after battle...locked in what seemed to be an endless war...everything changed."

With that, Pitch abruptly closed the book, nearly slamming it shut.

"That, however, is a story for another time. If I'm not mistaken, you need to get your 'beauty sleep'...and I've already kept you up longer than I should have," Pitch finished, looking at Amelia with an odd look. "The last thing I want is for you to get sick...and possibly lose your voice."

"Tell me one thing...Pitch," Amelia began curiously, while her mention of the Nightmare King's name carried a hint of uncertainty. After that, her mouth opened involuntarily in a yawn; she arched her back, lifting one arm, as she covered her mouth with her other hand.

"Yes, Amelia?"

"Why...why are you so concerned about singing?" Amelia asked, after a moment's hesitation.

For a few seconds, Pitch seemed to digest her words, mulling over them with a thoughtful look.

"I believe it was Plato who once said, _'Music gives a soul to the universe, wings to the mind, flight to the imagination, and life to everything,'" _Pitch replied, albeit cryptically, "If there is one language that resonates throughout every culture in the universe, it is song."

"What's that supposed to mean?" Amelia asked, with another yawn, as she sank back beneath the sheets. Rolling on her side, she seemed to curl up under the covers. As her eyes fluttered closed, Pitch lifted himself from the bed, gliding over to gently pull the comforter over her shoulders.

"It means what it means, dear Amelia...now rest," Pitch said softly, "Let the universe sing you to your sleep...sleep, and sing the music of your soul."

As Amelia's eyes closed for one final time, her breathing slowly started become more shallow and relaxed.

Breathing in quietly, Pitch turned his gaze to look at her...briefly, his right arm raised, as though to lightly brush her hair, but stopped. Withdrawing his gray colored limb, Pitch's expression changed, growing softer, as he began to sing.

_"This whole city's black and white  
Tell me, what is your color?  
Could it be the same as mine?  
Faded greens and blue street lights,  
There's a red fire burning  
In the sea up to the sky..."_

Pausing, Pitch seemed to look at Amelia's resting form for another several seconds.

_"Won't you just stay?"_ he breathed lowly. _"Won't you just stay...?"_

* * *

"Hey, pal. What is it?"

After the eventful and dramatic Guardians emergency meeting, Jack was now trying to deal with the antics of the Sandman, who had hastily pursued Jack after their rendezvous was over. Grabbing the winter spirit's arm, Sandman had tugged quite forcefully at the sleeve of Jack's hoodie.

"Hey! Don't rip it!" Jack protested, turning around to face the Guardian of Dreams. Looking away and putting the tips of his fingers together sheepishly, the Sandman formed an emoticon above his head that read:

_^^;_

"So, getting into the more modern stuff these days, eh?" Jack teased, and the Sandman shook his head, causing the sand to scatter.

Looking very concerned, the Sandman started to wave his arms about, changing expressions just as quickly as he seemed to change the sandy images above his head.

"Whoah, whoah, whoah!" Jack said suddenly, flying up to Sandy and using his own hands to motion Sandy to slow down. "Slow down there! I can't even tell half of what you're trying to communicate."

Exasperated, the Sandman rolled his eyes and huffed, waving one arm to brush off Jack's remark. Finally, he began with a sower stream of images; however, even these still seemed to be an odd combination, confusing the Guardian of Fun even more.

"Okay...a girl, a creepy looking dude, a music note, an arrow...sorry, buddy, but I'm just not getting what you're trying to tell me," Jack said, looking apologetic.

With a sigh, Sandy reached out to grab Jack's hand. Swiftly, a whip-like tendril of sand seemed to reach out towards Jack, snaking towards his body.

"Ok now...getting a little freaked out here..." Jack said, but the appendage only came closer. "Sandy, what are you doi-"

The tendril made contact with Jack's forehead, pointing its tip lightly against the pale, white skin between his eyebrows.

_Many images flashed through Jack's head. Most of them included people in clothing that he had not seen for over one hundred years, and many of them also seemed to focus on a girl, singing; a man dressed all in black, with a mask as white as freshly fallen snow; and occasionally, other characters. However, after a few scenes of the girl and the man, the man in the mask seemed to morph and shift form into Pitch himself...who was...singing?_

"Okay, I don't really want to know," Jack muttered to himself, as he continued to watch the vision unfold.

_The next several images appeared to be looking through a glass window...watching a girl, not wholly dissimilar from the one in period dress he had seen singing before, in a bed. However, it was what...or rather, who...was in front of her that sent a chill up Jack's spine. In front of the girl loomed Pitch, who seemed to leap towards her, his sharp teeth bared. The girl opened her mouth in a scream-_

-and then the stream of images abruptly ended, leaving Jack staring at Sandy.

After a moment's pause, the winter spiti opened his mouth to speak.

"Dude, I didn't know you could _do_ that!"

The Sandman promptly facepalmed, shaking his head.

"Anyways," Jack continued, "That girl obviously needs our help! ...well, she's not really a _girl,_ anymore, when you think about it...she looked pretty old for someone who believes. I...I always thought most people stopped believing after they grow up...don't they?"

Nodding, Sandy seemed to agree, crossing his arms.

"Wait...you saw this from outside a window," Jack added, pointing at Sandy. Once again, the Guardian of Dreams nodded. "So, that means you know where this..._lady_...is, right?"

Once again, Sandy nodded, then spelled out one word atop his head.

_'YES.'_

"Alright...so, are you saying that you want to come with me?" Jack inquired, to which the Sandman nodded...again.

"Wait...why didn't you just show all the other Guardians what you showed me?" Jack added, to which the Sandman shook his head.

_'CAN'T,'_ he formed, then replaced it with the number '1'.

"Oh...okay. So you can only show one person at a time?"

Another nod from the golden spirit.

"Ah, I see...well, Sandy, what are we waiting for? Let's go find this girl and rescue her!"

With that, Sandy formed a trumpet above his head, and the two Guardians zoomed off together - both of them headed to Burgess, Pennsylvania, where they would hopefully find the 'damsel in distress' that seemed to have caused Pitch's return.

* * *

**Disclaimer: **_Rise of the Guardians_ and all related literary characters are © 2013 to Dreamworks and William Joyce. This is an unauthorized work of fiction, and should not be regarded as canon or real in any way. The Black Phantom, all unrelated characters, are © 2013 to me, and are not be used in any other works of fanfiction not authorized or written by me without my permission.


	6. I'll Know

**Author's Note:** Thank you all so much for your favorites, alerts, and reviews! A note of caution: this is a songfic. Particularly, this features the duet "I'll Know" from the musical _Guys and Dolls_.

Today, I have a special super duper treat for you guys...but what is it? What could it be? And could it mean...the more mushy development of feelings between Pitch and Amelia? Or will another contender try to steal Amelia's heart? Mwahaha! I'm evil, aren't I? Why, you'll just have to read to find out!

(Also the first part of this story comes from Tumblr.)

* * *

**- THE BLACK PHANTOM -**

_Chapter 6: I'll Know_

* * *

**Amelia's POV**

_"And so the little lamb and his mama live happily ever after," the girl finished reading her story aloud to the creature beside her. Hopeful orbs of brown glistened as she cocked her head up at him. "Didya like that, Mister Boogey?"_

_No response from underneath the black coat. She frowned, teetering off her seat ever so slowly before her tiny feet reached the ground._

_"Mister Boogey?" she asked again, gripping the corners of the dark trench coat. When nothing responded, she slowly peeled it open, revealing the coat rack on which he had been perched. Where had he gone?_

_The little girl shrunk back, upset that her friend had left without a word. She curled up in her chair, clutching the book tightly in case he came back to hear the rest of the tale. Suddenly, a soft wind blew through the empty room, but before she could turn to see what had caused it, she was swept up in darkness._

_"Gotcha," the creature chuckled, cradling her close to him._

_The child squeal with laughter most contagious, pleased of his return._

_"I thought you left!" She gave a pout, looking up at his shadowy face._

_"Why, my dear, I'd never leave you. I am your guardian after all, am I not?" The monster gave her a toothy smile.** "**And I will always be _your_ Boogeyman."_

With that, I awoke from a start from my dream - the only dream that I'd had in the past few days that had lasted longer, for once.

Sighing, I rubbed my temples, the light of the coming dawn filtering soft yellow rays through my closed window shades. Lately, I'd been learning to adjust to my new sleeping pattern, although I wondered if my bed was somehow getting stiffer. Squinting my eyes, I stretched up and placed my hands on my back, feeling a few vertebrae pop as my spine readjusted itself.

"Good morning," greeted the low, male voice I was used to hearing by now.

Cracking open one eye warily, I saw the figure of Pitch, better known as the Boogeyman, materialize in front of me. As usual, his ethereal figure seemed to tower above me, lean and gaunt, as his ever-yellow eyes seemed to stare at me, expectant.

"Good morning to you, too, Mister Boogey," I replied back tiredly, feeling the dryness in my eyes as I rubbed them.

"Mister Boogey?" Pitch inquired, "That's a new one..."

"Well, s'not like you wouldn't know it, right? I mean, since you were in my dream and all..." I replied groggily, shifting the covers as I slid out of bed.

"Actually...I decided to let you have a rest this time," Pitch responded, floating behind me as I moved across the tan carpet. Akin to a ghost, his movements were just as silent as they were eerie; whenever he was behind me, I always got the distinct feeling of being watched...which I was.

"You had a dream about me? Curious...very curious," Pitch mused, "You've intrigued me...though I suppose that's only to be expected..."

Half-asleep, I trudged across the hallway to my small kitchen, and stopping lazily in front of the coffee maker. With a flip of the worn, black switch, the old, battered Coffee-Mate buzzed to life with a drone of acknowledgement.

"May I ask, Amelia...what you dreamed about?" Pitch inquired.

I merely shrugged, opening the cabinet to fetch the silver bag that would bring me my 'breakfast of champions'.

"Wasn't anything I've dreamed about before, I can tell you that," I replied, ripping open the bag with my long fingers and placing the filter in the machine, like so. "I was a kid...and you were there. S'all I can remember...not really much else."

"I see," Pitch mused again; I briefly imagined him stroking his imaginary, pointed beard. "That's not really a surprise, I suppose. Most children know of me...or did."

"Did...you keep saying that word," I pointed out, pressing the button as the machine seemed to sputter hot water. "Since when have kids stopped believing in the Boogeyman?"

"Since about a year ago, when those foolish _Guardians_ and that idiotic _Jack Frost_ apparently defeated me," Pitch said, his voice laced with the usual bitterness.

"Jack Frost? ...did you just say 'Jack Frost'?" I spoke, stifling a giggle. "You do know that's just an expression, right? Or rather, a song lyric. As in, _'Jack Frost nipping at your nose'_...it's in the Christmas Song. Or _Chestnuts Roasting on an Open Fire_, if you prefer."

"Oh, please," Pitch retorted, "You'll believe in the Boogeyman, but you're more concerned about Jack Frost being 'just an expression'?"

"_Touché_." I shrugged again, my nostrils picking up eagerly on the scent of the forming brew. "It's just always what my parents told me, particularly my mom."

"Well, your parents clearly didn't teach you much about the Guardians," Pitch replied, "Believe me, Jack Frost is just as real as Santa Claus and the Tooth Fairy."

At that, I let out a laugh. "...and I suppose the Easter Bunny and the Sandman are real, too?"

"Correct," Pitch confirmed, "And rather nasty to me, at that. Apparently they can't stand the thought of me actually having children..."

I turned, giving Pitch a dour look. Meanwhile, the coffee machine gave a loud ding, and I removed the steaming hot pot.

"..._fine_...people, believing in me...and who do you think brings you those dreams every night? Obviously, most of them weren't nightmares. That would be _my_ realm of influence."

The coffee machine gave a loud ding, and I removed the steaming hot pot. Reaching for the cabinet above me, I was surprised to see a black tendril snake its way above me, wrapping its tip around the handle. Lowering it to my smaller height, Pitch released the mug into my waiting hands.

"Thanks," I said, pouring the fresh coffee into the ceramic container. "Care for black?"

"Thank you for the offer," Pitch thanked lowly, shaking his head. "However, as you might be able to see...I'm not quite _human_."

"True," I said simply, turning as I cupped the mug in my hands, breathing on the steam rising from the rich liquid. "Yet you can seem to form yourself into a corporeal being in my presence."

"That depends on whether or not you...and others...believe in me, and how strongly," Pitch pointed out, "The more people believe in - and fear - me, the stronger I become."

"...but you're saying because of these so-called 'Guardians', that ended," I added.

"Yes," Pitch agreed, "I used to be one of the most feared beings in the universe...now, I am but a mere shadow. No one believes in me...so to most people, I'm invisible."

For a moment, Pitch looked away. "It was as though I never even had existed...me, the Boogeyman! The nightmare from under the bed! People passing through me as though I were _nothing_..." His hand curled up into a tight fist.

"I can understand how that must feel..." I said lowly, looking down myself. "Through most of school, I was invisible, too. No one seemed to notice me...or, when they did, it was to make fun of me...to tease me. I was always an artsy kid, when everyone else seemed to like sports instead. It wasn't exactly the most..._pleasant_ experience."

"I see," Pitch replied. Finally, we both looked up, meeting each other's eyes in what seemed to be a moment of understanding. "Then we have something in common, you and I."

"I guess you're right," I said, feeling my lips curve into a smile.

"Well, I won't keep you waiting," Pitch dismissed, waving his hand. With the one motion, his hand seemed to dissolve into shadows, followed by the rest of his dark, tall frame.

Left alone with my coffee, I poured another cup, savoring the bittersweet taste as I began my morning.

* * *

As I got dressed, finished my daily makeup, and headed out to my car, I felt the phone in my pocket buzz.

Slipping the iPhone out of my pocket, I checked it. On the screen, there was a single message from Yvonne.

_"Meet me at Cafe Bistro before class. We need to talk."_

I glanced at the message quickly, feeling myself bite my lower lip. What on Earth did she want to talk about? Usually when Yvonne sent me something like this, it wasn't nearly so serious, or...so punctual? I usually met up with her at the Cafe every morning before class, but this sounded a bit more...well, it wasn't like Yvonne to just text message me out of the blue in such a manner.

With a sigh, I climbed into my car, and drove the less than one mile it was to the food court and the Cafe Bistro coffee shop.

As I approached, Yvonne was waiting out front for me, dressed in her usual stylish garb of designer jeans and some sort of puffy red jacket.

"Hey," I said, greeting her, "What's up with the text?"

"Oh...nothing much," Yvonne said, a little bit too innocently, "Why don't we go inside and order?"

"Okay..." I said, shrugging my shoulders as I followed her inside. We approached the counter and got in line like usual, as I tipped my head up at the offerings given.

"_Are_ you okay?" Yvonne said suddenly, turning to face me.

I stared at her blankly. "What do you mean?"

"I mean..." she began to say, and then paused, sighing. "I just noticed you haven't been..._yourself_ lately. That and to say you're acting a bit weird would be an understatement."

"What?" I responded, confused. "Trust me, Yvonne, I'm fine."

"I know...but..." Yvonne replied, placing a hand on my shoulder. "You know I care about you, hon. You're my best friend...and when you start acting distant and really odd, I'm going to be concerned. Like the other day..._that_ was weird."

"That?" I said, feeling my stomach drop as she looked at me, expectantly.

What was I supposed to tell her? _'Oh, that was just the Boogeyman, having a little fun with you. You can't see him because he's invisible if you don't believe in him, and, oh, by the way, I am the only one who can see him.'_

"Umm..." I said, grasping at straws before blurting out the first thing to come to mind. I rubbed the back of my head. "I'm just nervous about being in the play with Vic!"

"What about me?" came a familiar voice.

Slowly, feeling my stomach drop, I looked at the face of none other than the man himself. As soon as my gaze met his blue eyes, I felt my cheeks begin to burn, as I dropped my hand to my side.

"I...I...um..." I stuttered, feeling powerless to look away from his entrancing, clear gaze.

With a slender frame and smooth, paler skin, Vic looked to be muscled not too much, but just in a way that denoted that he worked out just enough to be fit. My eyes dropped from his gaze and seemed to wander briefly over his fame...then, realizing with horror that I was "checking him out", my eyes snapped back to his face.

He looked at me inquisitively as I noticed his facial features; his angled jaw; his styled, black hair; and his full lips...

"Amelia was just talking about how she's nervous to be in the play with you," Yvonne suddenly explained, and I felt my gut plummet and my cheeks get even hotter.

To that, Vic gave a soft, appealing, almost musical laugh.

"Is that true? Aw, you flatter me," Vic said, turning again to look me in the eyes. I stared back helplessly, feeling paralyzed. "Don't be nervous. I may have been the star of the last play, but you have enough star material yourself. I must admit, I'm impressed with your rendition of Christine."

"...r-really?" I heard myself say, albeit stupidly, in my opinion. A warm, very pleasant feeling seemed to fill me, as I felt my happiness swell.

"Yes, really," Vic affirmed, grinning with that perfect, pristine, white smile. "You're pretty much as good as Amber."

Almost immediately, I felt a sudden surge of disgust and burning rise up in me at the mention of Amber's name. I had to force myself to smile back instead of scowling...of course he had to mention _Amber_.

"Thanks," I replied, relaxing my smile a bit. "I was impressed as well...with your portrayal of Sky Masterson."

"Oh, everyone seemed to be impressed by that," Vic said with a chuckle, "But then again, Sky is supposedly the ultimate 'ladies' man'. I had to put on more than a bit of suave for the role."

_Oh you have more than enough suave for any role_, I thought to myself, my eyes quickly glancing at his...finely sculpted torso...

"Yeah," I replied softly, forcing myself - once again - to look at his face. _Stop looking at his abs!_ "_Guys and Dolls_ was my absolutely favorite musical as a kid. My parents took me to see it all the time."

"Oh, really? A doll after my own heart!" Vic said, with another pleasant laugh as he briefly added a Chicagoan mobster accent. The warm, fuzzy feeling from before intensified tenfold; whatever was fuzzy about it seemed to turn to absolute mush.

"Hey! I know. How'd you like to practice with me this afternoon? I was thinking maybe we could try a few duets," Vic suggested, smiling as he seemed to lean in closer - or was it just my imagination?

I noticed what seemed to be the subtle scent of cologne...or something...wafting off of him with the cool air from the AC, giving him a very pleasant smell that seemed to draw me in even more.

"S-sure..." I spluttered a bit, before regaining my voice. Then, a sudden thought occurred to me. "What about Amber?"

"Oh, Amber?" Vic said, pulling away - much to my disappointment - as his smile turned into a slight frown. "Unfortunately, she's sick today. I think she said she got the stomach flu..."

"Oh," I said, unsure of what else to say.

Mostly, the largest portion of me felt triumphant, exhilarated at the prospect of finally practicing with him..._alone_. With no one around...while the other part of me felt guilty about Amber's illness. However, no matter how bad Amber's sickness was, I felt a surge of excitement fill my body. It was as though I'd suddenly downed five cups of coffee - and I wasn't about to let this opportunity pass me by.

"Yes," I said simply, fighting to not smile too much.

When Vic smiled back, I felt the butterflies in my stomach swoon.

"I'll see you at one o' clock, then?" he asked, sounding hopeful.

"Sounds great!" I affirmed, nearly beaming with sheer happiness.

"Alright, see you then," Vic said, waving as he turned to leave.

As soon as he was out of earshot, I flinched when I heard Yvonne squeal loudly for joy.

"Oh my God, Amelia! I can't believe you actually did it...you got a _date_ with him!" she nearly screamed, jumping up and suddenly enveloping me in a hug.

Without much ado, I hugged her back tightly, my entire expression radiant.

"I know, right?" I replied enthusiastically, pulling away.

_"Order Number 25, two Mocha Lattes?"_

"That's me," Yvonne turned, picking up the two coffees on the counter. She handed one of the tall cups to me.

"But, Yvonne...I was gonna order..." I said, only to be silenced by her shaking her head.

"Naw, don't worry about it, girlfriend. This one's a treat on me!"

As soon as we turned, I flinched again as Pitch suddenly seemed to materialize out of nowhere.

"Fu-oh, Jesus!" I nearly swore, almost dropping and spilling my coffee on the floor. "You _really_ have got to stop doing that."

"Amelia, are you alright?" Yvonne called from ahead of me, and I nodded.

"Yeah, 'Vonne, I'll be right there. Just dropped something. You can go find a table," I called back.

"Who was that boy?" Pitch asked curiously, floating easily alongside me as I began to walk forward. "You were practically _drooling_ all over him."

"I was not _drooling_," I protested, stubbornly.

"You're right," Pitch seemed to acquiesce - then continued. "You weren't _drooling_ over him...more like _slobbering_, really."

"Oh, please! I'm not a dog!" I countered, sending him a swift, annoyed glare. "And why do you care, anyways?"

"Oh, I don't," Pitch responded, amused, "The only reason I appear to care is because you were making a _buffoon_ out of yourself. It's quite obvious that you have a crush on him."

"I do _not_-!" I said, feeling my cheeks go red again. When I turned, Pitch had disappeared.

"Mother_lover_," I swore, using my mom's way of speaking of the crass remark.

* * *

For the rest of the day, thanks to that tall cafe latte and my own jittery nerves, I was fidgeting all through my classes. During our art class, when we were sculpting using a form of red clay, I couldn't stop my hands from shaking...and I couldn't stop the replay in my head for what seemed to be the thousandth time. The image of Vic seemed to be stuck in my brain on constant loop, though each time, the scene changed.

Luckily - or unluckily - Pitch oddly didn't manifest himself at all for the next several hours. Essentially, after he had disappeared, he seemed to have literally vanished into thin air, leaving me alone with my thoughts.

Part of what happened was because my mind was racing, along with the adrenaline pumping through my veins, on what Vic had planned...or why he had asked me to practice with him solo in the first place.

_He just wants to be your friend_, my common sense and conscious tried to tell me, _he obviously likes you in a friendly way. He says he's impressed by you, and you practiced with him, Amber, and Yvonne the other day. He probably just wants to practice with you one-on-one because you can sing better than Yvonne, know the scales, and how to really breathe and sing from your stomach._

Not unlike the little devil on the other side of my shoulders, however, my more...desiring...side seemed to sway me as well.

_He must like you like you like him! Otherwise, why would he ask you out on a date?_ my other, more hopeful, voice argued, _Obviously he's not that Amber chick's boyfriend, or else he would be at home with her right now, holding that ugly blond hair back while she pukes into the toilet. He cares for you much more than that skank!_

As the two sides warred, my thoughts seem to derail completely. My fingers moved slowly around the clay, shaping it, but in my head, I was a million miles away, my head playing out thoughts of what could go very right...or very _wrong_.

Needless to say, I left my sculpture only half-finished, though my professor seemed to understand, storing the clay so it wouldn't dry out by the next class.

Finally, as class let out, it was nearly time for my practice with Vic. I stepped out of the classroom, and headed towards the theater...feeling as though my legs were turning more and more to jelly with each step.

_Oh God, oh God, oh God, oh God...ok, Amelia. You're gonna do fine...just breathe..._

Reaching the large, wooden doors, I slowly pushed them open and stepped iside.

"Hey, Amelia!"

_Oh CRAP._

It felt as though his words had sent an arrow through my heart, stilling it. I felt my breath hitch slightly as I saw Vic jogging towards me, stopping just a few feet away from me.

Worse, he was in his Sky Masterson outfit...complete with a 30's-style, dapper gray suit, bowler hat, and white-and-black shoes, with a black undershirt and white tie.

"Well, what d'you think?" he said, raising his arms and doing a quick spin.

For a moment I couldn't think. If I were a Japanese anime character, I would be spouting a _massive_ nosebleed right now.

"Umm...it looks _great!_" I said lamely, my eyes sweeping over him quickly. _More than great, I'd say...drop-dead sexy, more like. _I had always been a sucker for guys and suits - and Vic Montague was no exception.

"You look just like Marlon Brando," I added quickly, blushing a bit for what seemed to be the third time that day.

"Really? You're not the first person to tell me that!" Vic said, with a soft laugh. The casualness of it all, and his laid-back demeanor, seemed to help me slowly relax a bit, though my stomach still felt like a seized ball of nervousness.

"I...um...I feel kind of...out of place," I admitted sheepishly, "I don't exactly have a costume."

"No worries," Vic said, with a grin. "It's just practice. This suit fits me really well, so I figured, why not try it on again?"

_I'm sure it fits you really well indeed..._my inner voice of desire added with a purr. I mentally kicked myself to try and stay focused.

"So, doll, care to join me?" Vic added, again, in his smooth, near perfect Chicagoan drawl, as he reached out his hand for me to take. I felt a shiver go up my spine.

Reaching out slowly, I took his hand. The moment my skin brushed against his, it felt as though his touch sent fire surging down my fingertips and through my blood. Almost all too soon, we had reached the stage, Vic leading me with his slender, but strong, hand down the aisle and up the stairs.

With a smile, he turned to face me with those expressive, baby blue eyes, before finally releasing me.

Turning, he walked across the stage, taking his position. I, too, hesitantly took my place, watching him expectantly.

"Why don't we start off with a song that we both probably know all too well," Vic began, his voice smooth. He closed his eyes briefly, and then continued to speak again in his Chicagoan, 30's gangster accent.

"It is nice to know, Miss Sarah, that somewhere in the world is a guy who might appeal to you. I wonder what this guy will be like."

I felt a jump of excitement and thrill as I realized what song this was. Taking a breath, I replied aptly, smoothly shifting into the character of Sarah, the main female lead from _Guys and Dolls_.

"He will _not_ be a gambler!"

"I'm not interested in what he will not be. I am interested in what he _will_ be."

"Don't worry, I'll know," I replied, my voice insistent.

_"For I've imagined every bit of him,_  
_To the strong moral fiber, to the wisdom in his head_  
_To the home-y aroma of his pipe..."_

_"You have wished yourself a Scarsdale Galahad,_  
_The breakfast-eating, Brooks-brothers type," _Vic sang back, also clearly in character.

"Yes!" I affirmed. "...and I shall meet him when the time is right."

"You've got the guy all figured out," Vic said, spreading his arms.

"I have," I affirmed again.

"Including what he smokes. All figured out, huh?"

"All figured out," I said happily, feeling comfortably, very much like Sarah. Opening my mouth, I began to sing again.

_"I'll know when my love comes along _  
_I won't take a chance!_  
_I'll know he'll be just what I need._  
_Not some fly-by-night Broadway romance!"_

_"And you'll know at a glance, by the two-pair of pants?"_ Vic sang back, raising an eyebrow.

_"I'll know by the calm, steady voice..._  
_Those feet on the ground!_  
_I'll know as I run to his arms, _  
_That at last I've come home safe and sound. _  
_Until then, I shall wait!_  
_Until then, I'll be strong!"_

I felt my voice break a little on the last, high note, but I kept my voice going as best I could. Pausing, I took a breath, then went to the last line, my voice coming out softer, wistful, and longing.

_"Oh, I'll know, when my love comes along..."_

"No, no, no! You are talking about love! You can't dope it like that. What are you picking, a guy or a horse?" Vic challenged.

"I wouldn't expect a _gambler_ to understand," I retorted.

"Would you like to hear how a gambler feels about the big heart throb?" Vic replied, tipping his hat.

"No!"

"Well, I'll tell you..." Vic replied on cue. Then, his deep voice sounded as he went into the next stanza.

_"Mine will come as a surprise to me;_  
_Mine I lead to chance and chemistry."_

"Chemistry?" I queried, pretending to be curious.

"Yeah...chemistry," Vic responded, all suave.

_"Suddenly I'll know when my love comes along_  
_I'll know then and there _  
_I'll know at the sight of her face _  
_How I care, how I care, how I care!_  
_And I'll stop...and I'll stare..."_

Slowly, he began to walk towards me, though his arms were raised, as though he was envisioning a painting in his mind's eye.

_"And I'll know long before we can speak,_  
_I'll know in my heart. _  
_I'll know and I won't ever ask,_  
_Am I right, am I wise, am I smart? _  
_And I'll stop...and I'll stare..._  
_At that face...in the throng!"_

Letting his own high note maintain itself, he finally paused, his hand lingering as though reaching towards me, before continuing.

_"Yes, I'll know when my love comes along..."_

_"I'll know..."_ I chimed in, our voice melding for the last line. We both started walking towards each other, our eyes drawing us closer like magnets.

_"...when my love comes along."_

Staring into Vic's eyes, I felt entranced once more...we were now barely a foot apart, facing each other. Only then did I realize that Vic was several inches higher than I was, and he was looking down at me, his gaze intense.

Reaching slowly, his finger brushed my chin, tipping it up to better look at him.

I felt my eyes flutter as the butterflies did in my stomach, as Vic leaned in closer...and closer...

...and just before he pressed his lips against mine, I saw his eyes flash...but it was gone in an instant. Feeling his lips brush against mine softly, I closed my eyes, enjoying the feeling of pure bliss that shot through me.

Briefly, my eyes blinked open...and I saw that Vic's eyes were _yellow_.

In one brief stroke, I drew my arm back and slapped him. _Hard_.

Vic seemed to stumble back a few steps...and his hand flew to his cheek for a moment. If anything, he looked dazed and confused.

"I guess I'll have to come back later so you can take a crack at the other cheek, eh?" Vic added with a grin, turning to walk offstage.

With newfound anger surging through me, I sang Sarah's very last part with all the more indignation.

_"I'll know. I won't take a chance!_  
_I know he'll be just what I need _  
_Not some fly-by-night Broadway romance. _  
_Until then, I shall wait!_  
_And till then, I'll be strong!_  
_Oh, I'll know when my love comes along!"_

* * *

**Disclaimer:** _Rise of the Guardians_ and all related literary characters are © 2012 to Dreamworks and William Joyce. This is an unauthorized work of fiction, and should not be regarded as canon or real in any way. _The Black Phantom_, all unrelated characters, are © 2012 to me, and are not be used in any other works of fanfiction not authorized or written by me without my permission.


	7. Sue Me

**Author's Note:** First off, I sincerely apologize for the lack of updates! (Explanation is below.) Thank you all so much for your favorites, alerts, and reviews! This was previously a songfic, but has since removed all copyrighted lyrics to comply with FF's site rules. However, you can find the original version on my DeviantART account, which is linked on my profile page.

I really, really apologize about the lack of updates. I've been having a lot of tumult in my life, including illness and switching jobs, as well as expanding my media intake to restart my muse. I also got involved in a game called "Dark Souls" (ironic, no?) and got some inspiration there for _The Black Phantom_ and where the story should be headed. Unfortunately, I also previously had serious writer's block, which should be cleared up now.

I'm also going to be going back and editing the previous chapters to add length and quality, so watch out for those!

This chapter is a bit short and a bit filler, for which I apologize. However, there will be more to come soon, and I promise you!

If Amelia becomes a spirit, what element should be hers? Go to my profile to vote! (You can also see my ideal cast for this fic on my profile.)

* * *

**- THE BLACK PHANTOM -**

_Chapter 7: Sue Me_

* * *

**Amelia's POV**

My first thought after I finished the song was that I was so angry, that I couldn't even speak.

Boiling up like flames in my chest, I could feel the full heat of my fury...my fists as they balled up, and my teeth digging into my lower lip as I bit down.

How _dare_ he! _How dare he!_

Right now, I had two guesses in my mind as to what had just occurred.

My first conclusion was that the yellow eyes were just a trick of the light, perhaps, but Vic had gone and kissed me anyways. Yet, despite this, he had also kept in character, and grudgingly, I recalled that in the scene, he was supposed to kiss me. I played Sarah, and he played Sky...according to the original script, everything had gone according to plan, including his words after.

My second conclusion, and the one I felt almost _sure_ of, was that somehow, someway, Pitch had managed to..._possess_, for lack of better term...Vic's body.

As I stomped off the stage, pretty much in utter rage, I could hear running footsteps behind me. I didn't bother to look back, my eyes focused solely ahead of me.

"C'mon, Amelia," Vic pleaded, "I'm sorry if that upset you, I was just...I don't know what came over me!"

Ignoring Vic's attempts to reconcile, I continued to march off the stage, not so much as glancing back at him. Anger bubbled up in my chest, a silent resolve that seemed to kindle the flame sparked by his rash action into a steady blaze.

"Amelia!" Amelia!" he called, as I increased my pace. "I'm sorry! I didn't mean to...I mean...look, can you just stop so we can talk about this?"

I spun around, abruptly, my nostrils flared and my eyes blazing.

"What exactly is there to talk about?" I replied scathingly, "Are you even _you_ right now?"

"What the hell are you talking about? Of course I'm _me!"_ Vic protested. "I dunno...it was just...I felt compelled...like my brain was somewhere else."

"Obviously it _was_," I replied, tongue-in-cheek. I glared at him, eyeing him carefully as my eyes met his startled blue ones.

"What?"

"Nothing," I said, sighing, as I rubbed my forehead, looking down. "I'm sorry...I shouldn't have reacted like that. It's not your fault. That's how the scene goes in the movie and the play." I glanced up at him, noticing his apologetic expression. "Can you forgive me?"

"Forgiven," Vic said simply, with a gentle smile. Moving forward, he enveloped me in a gentle hug, surprising me a bit.

After a moment of surprise, I hugged him back, feeling his lean, sculpted body briefly against mine before he pulled away. Looking at each other, we seemed to share a moment of understanding...and then we both burst into laughter.

"Well, what do you say, doll? You up for today's practice with the good Madame?" Vic asked, all friendliness. After seeing his bright, easy smile, I couldn't help but grin back, feeling newly at ease, despite what had just happened.

"I guess so," I replied back lightly, feeling my hurt, angry emotions slowly drain out of me; the pressure and pain of them seemed relieved, even soothed, by his words. Hugging me also seemed to do the trick, and now, even though, at the time, I found his embrace mostly comforting, the thought of his body against mine sent a buzz up my spine...

Looking up at Vic, I saw his eyes gleam in response, his countenance all happiness and relief as he heard my quiet response.

"Wonderful!" he affirmed, nodding, as he glanced up at the stage. "So...do you want to practice some more...or...?"

"I would_ love_ to practice some more," I replied, smiling a bit as I realized I must sound a but shy. However, out of the corner of my eye, I saw a movement stir in the shadows of the theater.

Seeing that shadow, I felt the anger rise in me again, briefly; I turned to Vic, all smiles, while I masked my irritation. Proffering his hand, Vic raised an questioning eyebrow at me as I readily placed my palm in his larger one.

"Are you sure you're alright...?" he asked, to which I nodded in response.

"Yeah, I'll be fine," I responded, faking a smile for him as I followed his lead to the front of the stage.

All too soon, I knew I would have to make a certain spirit 'face the music'...and boy, would he ever have some explaining to do.

* * *

After the kissing incident, Vic and I decided to stop practicing from _Guys & Dolls_ and instead perform numbers on what we should have been focusing on...that is, _Phantom of the Opera_. Since we were to practice the titular song, and duet, _Phantom of the Opera_ soon in front of everyone, possibly for the next several practices to perfect it, we decided to try and see which of our keys needed work and improving.

Eventually, as usual and like clockwork, the other students who earned roles in the play trickled into the theater, a sporadic stream of people that seated themselves in their prescribed seats and began to add voices to to our own. Soon, the low din of several participants talking over one another formed a cacophony, which might otherwise be discordant, jarring, and uncomfortable for those not used to it. In the beginning, during the auditions, I had found the buzzing of my peers to be akin to the sound of bees against the ears, annoying and inane; now, however, I had grown used to the noise.

As usual, Madame Perrier would come walking down the aisle, right on time, as her words seemed to part through the students' like Moses parting the Red Sea. As soon as she arrived, Vic and I left the stage and took out seats, smiling to one another in acknowledgement of what was to come.

"Quiet! Pipe down!" the Madame said sharply, bringing her black cane to rap on her desk. Three times she rapped, and by the third time, and students had ceased talking altogether.

"There...that's better...now that I have your attention, I am pleased to announce that, as we speak, the school orchestra is practicing numbers from Phantom of the Opera," the Madame announced, "Once Professor Midland has deemed them at least presentable, they will be joining us for practices. However, this will probably not be for some time, as they, too, need to perfect their music..."

"That being said, the playbills have hit a bit of a snag, but we should have them soon," the older woman continued, "Our designers are still trying to perfect and hone in on the most aesthetically pleasing choice for our attendants. I hope you all can wait just a bit longer."

A few of the students groaned, and one mutter could be heard, but for the most part, the students quickly silenced after that.

"Now," Madame Perrier added, "Since Mr. Montague has informed me that Amber Tamblyn, our Meg Giry, is unfortunately ill today, we will have to focus on other parts that exclude her. Once she recovers, we will go back to practice the parts surrounding her, especially her duet with Miss Lake."

After the short announcements, the Madame instructed us to begin, and for the extras to take their places. For most of practice today, Yvonne and I ended up seated, during which time Yvonne turned to me, her eyes wide.

"So, what happened with you and Vic today?" she asked, trying to sound casual and innocent as she rested her chin on one hand.

Briefly, I looked at her, calculating what to say in response. Looking at her expression, and how her upper lip seemed to twitch, I laughed internally as I realized she was trying hard to mask her excitement.

"Oh...not much..." I drawled quietly, keeping my voice down so as not to irritate the Dragon Lady. "We practiced...we sang...we kissed..."

"You _what?_" Yvonne spluttered, her eyes growing akin to wide, white saucers. "You _kissed?_"

"Miss Hartley!" Madame Perrier called shrilly, "I would ask that you please remain silent!"

"Yes, Madame Perrier," Yvonne quickly apologized, glancing up at the Madame, who was glaring at her, until the older woman finally turned her gaze back to the extras on stage. She rolled her eyes, then returned to looking just as excited, and animated, as before.

"You kissed?" Yvonne now whispered loudly, leaning in even more as she quickly glanced over to a seated Vic several rows away. "What was it like? Was he a good kisser? Did you get to second base?"

Averting my eyes briefly to make sure Vic wasn't watching us - thankfully, his eyes seemed trained on the scripts in his lap - I looked back at Yvonne, thinking it over briefly for a moment.

With this, I needed to tread carefully...already I was upset and unsure about the kiss, and suddenly, the thought of Amber Tamblyn, sick at her dorm, popped into my mind. What if Vic was dating Amber? The mere thought of them dating suddenly brought a rush of shame, and thinking of all the times I had set my sights on the handsome singer...not to mention our shared kiss, mutual and more than pleasant...I felt the guilt burn through me.

What had I done? I didn't even know if Vic was dating another girl, whether it was Amber or no...and yet here I was, having all but made out with him nonetheless. What had I been thinking?

"No," I finally sighed, after a few moments of contemplation. "I mean, it was absolutely amazing...but..."

"But what?" Yvonne queried, her eyebrows knitting together in a frown. "Don't tell me he used too much tongue...did he? Oh my God, I knew it! I thought he struck me as a 'too-much-tongue-guy'!"

At that, I laughed softly, shaking my head.

"No, he wasn't a 'too-much-tongue-guy'...in fact, there was no tongue action at all. Sad for you, I know it must be, since you seem to enjoy almost too much French kissing..." I trailed off, lightly teasing her, and feeling amusement as she looked suddenly embarrassed. "After all, you seem to describe many of your exes as 'too-much-tongue-guys'."

"So? Ask any of my exes, I'm the hottest kisser they know!" Yvonne defended, looking as though she could blush at that comment. "Besides, my kissing abilities or techniques doesn't have anything to do with you and Vic...but, girl, I'm so jealous you got to lock lips with him! Any girl would _kill_ to be in your shoes!"

"Well...I dunno," I responded, glancing as my hands, fiddling with each other, as I calculated what to say. "After all, I don't even know whether or not he has a girlfriend...and there's his apparent relationship with Amber, too...I just don't know, 'Vonne."

"What do you mean?" Yvonne protested, "Don't tell me all this time, you've been crushing on him, gushing about him, and dreaming of getting with him, and now, you're developing cold feet?"

"No! I swear, I'm not developing cold feet!" I protested, trying to keep my voice down. The last thing I wanted was for Madame Perrier to get irritated with either one of us again, taking out her wrath on us both. "I'm just saying...well...I've always been a stand up girl. Someone with morals...someone who always took to heart what her parents taught her well...and a true lady. Kissing Vic may have been a dream come true, and being with him would be everything I've ever wanted...but as long as there's the possibility he could be dating Amber...well, the last thing I want to do is to become a Camilla."

"A Camilla?"

"You know...a man thief," I explained, dropping my voice to a whisper, as I glanced back to Vic - still engaged in reading - and then back to Yvonne.

"Oh, please," Yvonne said, placing a firm hand on my shoulder, looking me in the eyes squarely. "Amelia, you're one of the most noble young women I know. Remember when you had that crush on David Hoynes in high school? He had a girlfriend, and yet, even though your crush was...quite obvious...you stood up for your values and respected, and supported, their relationship. There's not very many women out there who would do that same thing. You're a rare bird, my friend."

"True," I responded, "Which is why I've decided to take a step back from Vic for a while, at least until I learn more about him."

"Honestly," Yvonne said lowly, squeezing my shoulder as she offered me a smile, "Even though I feel a bit disappointed, you're absolutely right. You do what you feel if best for you, girlfriend. Be a strong, independent woman! ...maybe you can even focus on your 'boogeyman fantasy'..."

"'Vonne!" I retorted, lightly punching her in the arm.

"Alright, alright!" Yvonne laughed lowly, "I know it's getting a bit old, but I'm your friend, and sadly, your personal therapist since we're poor college students and you can't afford one. However, I promised I'd always stick by you, thick and thin."

"Best friends forever?" I asked with a smile, sticking up one outstretched pinky.

"Best friends forever," Yvonne agreed, grabbing my pinky with her own as we reaffirmed our promise to one another. Long ago, shortly after we first met, we had madea pinky promise to one another to always be friends, and now, we were renewing that vow.

* * *

Oddly enough, for the rest of the day, I didn't see Pitch.

However, seeing as how he was the last person I wanted to see after what happened, I tried to focus on practice, even though I didn't end up participating in the singing and rehearsals today. Some days, or so I'd been told, would end up being like this; so, in the future, I'd decided to mimic Vic in memorizing the script, even though I'd already taken most of it to heart. Talking things out with Yvonne also greatly helped me...and although I certainly didn't tell her about my experiences with the boogeyman, I felt happy, even relieved, that I could talk to her, and that she understood how I was feeling.

Thus, all up until the end of the day, when I parted with Yvonne and headed back to my private dorm, I had forgotten about the King of Nightmares.

Whistling lightly to myself as I put the key in the door, unlocking it and swinging it open, I shuffled inside. Most of the room was dark, and, as usual, I flipped on the light, turned around...

...and saw Pitch leaning up against one of the walls, apparently waiting for me.

"You!" I exclaimed, nearly dropping my keys, taking a step forward. In an instant, I felt all of my emotions from before bubble up to the surface, flooding me with a hot rage.

My hands balled into fists, clamping the key between one of my palms, as I marched up to the dark spirit.

"Now, now, I can explain..." he began, holding up his arms in defense.

"Explain? _Explain?_" I said, my voice seething with fury as I stopped, my face tipping up to glare at him. "You made Vic kiss me!"

"Technically I didn't _make_ him do anything," Pitch explained, then hesitated, apparently rethinking what he had said. "Alright, maybe I did, but still..."

I crossed my arms, tapping my foot in silence, raising an angry eyebrow at him.

"Fine," Pitch said, lowering his arms, with a sigh. "Though to be fair, he did seem to be attracted to you. Nevertheless...he didn't kiss you. It was me."

For a moment, I digested this, unsure what to feel about this...so, he admitted it; Pitch said that he'd kissed me...or rather, kissed me in Vic's body...argh, this was so _confusing_. Reaching up, I pinched the bridge of my nose and closed my eyes, breathing in slowly.

"I'm sorry," Pitch proffered, and feeling a gust of cold air, I felt him move around me, placing his hands on my shoulders...and the moment his hands made contact with my body, I felt that familiar feeling - a rush of fire and electricity and breathlessness - shoot though me.

"What did you say?" I said, asking again, albeit bitterly.

"I said...I'm sorry," Pitch repeated, moving his fingers to lightly rub my muscles. "I...shouldn't have done that. It was an error of judgement on my part...will you please forgive me?"

For a moment I paused, feeling too upset to speak. Then, after a few moments of neither of us talking, Pitch's voice came, clear and velvety.

_"Call a lawyer and sue me, _  
_Sue me _  
_What can you do me..."_

Surprised, I turned; yet even though I was taken aback he even knew _Guys & Dolls_, at the same time, it reminded me of what he'd done. Meanwhile, after a short pause, he continued to sing, his voice soft and smooth.

Admittedly, I stopped, listening to his voice as I heard him, via his song, plead humbly for my forgiveness...yet, at the same time, I still felt a rise of anger and indignation; unsure of what to do, I said nothing.

Pausing again, Pitch stopped, then sang again, this time with a hint of frustration.

He paused, and then continued, his voice more hesitant this time.

_"So sue me, sue me _  
_What can you do me..."_

The movements of his hand felt, admittedly, amazingly good...each motion, slow and circling, seemed to ease my taut muscles...and suddenly, I found myself thinking it might be nice to have more...and then, equally as fast, I realized just what I was thinking. Feeling the warm, pleasant feeling slowly replaced with the feeling of shock, I shrugged off Pitch's hands, moving away from him.

What the hell was I _thinking?_

Could I possibly be...no...I was supposed had feelings for Vic...and yet somehow I was having these thoughts...?

Most of all, the nature of the song made me stop and think for second. Usually, during the play, it was to accentuate a fight between gambler Nathan, and his girlfriend of seven years, Adelaide, to whom he was professing his love, despite his previous lies and awful behavior. Protesting back, Adelaide, defiant and skeptical, listens to Nathan as he sang his parts, admitting his undying love for her...

Could Pitch possibly...no...that couldn't be...could it?

"I...I need some time to think," I pleaded, glancing away briefly. "Please."

"Of course," Pitch murmured, and when I looked up, he had backed away, too.

Staring down at me with watchful eyes, Pitch looked worried, his expression concerned as he folded his hands, examining me for a reaction.

Glancing away, he seemed to ponder for a moment, and then turned back, looking at me with a wistful expression. His ocher eyes, flicking with the light seeping in from behind the blinds, seemed to hold mine for a second, searching my eyes...and, for what seemed to be much longer than a mere second, I lost my train of thought.

Staring back at him, I held his gaze until, finally, he looked away.

"As you wish," he murmured softly, and with a rustle of shadows, he was gone.

* * *

**Disclaimer:** _Rise of the Guardians_ and all related literary characters are © 2012 to Dreamworks and William Joyce. This is an unauthorized work of fiction, and should not be regarded as canon or real in any way. _The Black Phantom_, all unrelated characters, are © 2012 to me, and are not be used in any other works of fanfiction not authorized or written by me without my permission.


	8. No One Would Listen

**Author's Note: **A big thank you to everyone who reviewed! I am truly humbled and grateful for all of your kind words and support! You guys have gotten me to write this chapter, despite being sick with strep throat! ...so, without much ado, I present to you Chapter 8 of 'The Black Phantom'!

I've also decided to re-add the song lyrics! (At my own discretion.) Today's song is "No One Would Listen", a deleted scene song from the Phantom of the Opera movie. I highly suggest you listen to it on YouTube, as it conveys a lot of emotion.

* * *

**- THE BLACK PHANTOM -**

_Chapter 8: No One Would Listen_

* * *

**Pitch's POV**

"I...I need some time to think," she had pleaded, glancing away briefly. "Please."

Those words sliced like a knife through him, taking him aback.

The spirit backed away, feeling, for the first time in a long, long time...wounded. A dim recollection at the front of his mind spilled forth, filling his heads with unbidden thoughts.

_He had always known what physical pain, battle wounds, felt like. After all, he had taken countless injuries over the course of his service, resulting in a marred web of scars that lay just beneath the thin fabric of his clothing, and the metallic surface of his armor. Ever since he had made the decision to join the army, he knew and fully accepted these inevitable outcomes, and even when he felt the biting sting of a cut, or the sharp sensation of a scythe cutting through his supple muscle, he had swallowed the cries of his physical body and carried on. Physical wounds could not deter him; the cuts, gashes, and scrapes could not stop the indomitable spirit that resided in his flesh._

_Even then, he was feared, rising up in the ranks until he had ascended to what he saw as his rightful place. He was the lord and master of armies; his enemies whispered fearful nicknames in his presence, such as "the Oncoming Storm", "the Unstoppable", and even "the Jackal". When he breathed the air of battle, which had long-time been his home by then, the felt as though he were invincible - a God, even._

_However, as he had later learned, there was one small chink in the armor of his spirit, one that he, in his ignorance, had overlooked._

_In this chink, he could be wounded far more than any physical ailment...wounded like the time when she...she..._

Backing away slowly, Pitch closed his eyes, exhaling. Internally, he could feel the crushing, heavy blow of where Amelia's words had plunged in deep to the one area that he hid so well...the one area where he could truly suffer from a blow.

"Of course," he had murmured, opening his golden eyes to look at the girl before her.

Was this it, then? The end of the line? Would she...stop believing in him? Amid the silence, and the sudden surge of questions that registered in his thoughts, Pitch looked at Amelia expectantly, waiting for her to respond.

However, the college girl didn't even meet his eyes, turning them down to stare at the carpet before her.

Glancing away, Pitch mused for a few moments...and much to his apprehension, he himself felt real, honest fear. Fear that all this work would be for nothing, that Amelia would abandon him...that he would once again be believed in by no-one, losing the power and presence he had begun to truly appreciate and savor.

Above all, he realized, he was afraid that Amelia would never want to talk to him again...not after what he did. Kissing her in the guise of Vic, stealing that one, small kiss from her without her knowledge or consent...

This led to one question that fluttered across the pack of thoughts, most prominent and pressing.

_Why? _

_Why_ was he feeling this? She was just a human, a mortal, just like all the rest. He of all spirits should have known what would happen. For centuries, he had watched from afar, observing - and scaring - as people were born, grew up, aged, wilted, and died. People lived such short, fleeting lives, while he, ever immortal and sleepless, continued to exist in a perpetual state of un-change. This girl, Amelia Lake, was no different than any other mortal.

Yet...he couldn't shake that feeling at the back of his mind that Amelia wasn't like 'just any other mortal'. For one, she had that voice...the way that she sang...he couldn't quite put his finger on it, and the more he tried to figure out why, he felt anger and irritance begin to rise within him. Another part of him pointed out that she did remind him of his Seraphina, the only thing or person in the world that he treasured so much...yet Amelia wasn't like Seraphina. She was something...'other'. There was no other way he could describe it.

Glancing back at Amelia, he looked at her, a new light flickering to life in his thoughts as slowly, he began to examine the other possibilities. Could it be possible that...perhaps...but no. There was no way someone like him could possibly envision something like that in relation to her. Yet he could feel an odd connection to the girl...when he looked at her, he felt a certain tug, drawing him to her...intriguing him.

There was that _itch_, again. The itch of not knowing exactly why...and at the same time, he felt a sense of longing, of wanting to make sure - almost so desperately, that it surprised him - that Amelia wouldn't leave him. Not like Seraphina had already left him, all those years ago...

With a glance, he finally managed to catch Amelia's brown eyes with his own. For a brief moment, time itself seemed to still; he searched her eyes for any trace of expression, anything at all, that might help quench just how more and more desperate he was feeling.

Yet the brown-haired girl continued to stare at him back, silent and forlorn.

After several seconds, he finally couldn't stand it anymore. Looking away, he felt the horrible, curling, and unfamiliar sensation of guilt burn within him.

"As you wish," he murmured.

Melding himself with the shadows, he left Amelia to her own devices, sliding out through the shadows on the window-sill. All of the questions in his head seemed to vanish, and the only thought that remained was to go back to the only place where he felt he could truly spend some repose: his underground lair.

Meanwhile, a certain sandy spirit of dreams and the spirit of winter watched from above, monitoring Pitch as he departed.

After their flight to Burgess, Jack and Sandy had arrived just in time to see the Nightmare King, much to their surprise, retreating back to his hole in the ground. The two had alighted on a nearby, tall tree, Jack perching on the tips of his toes as frost patterns weaved their way into the tree's bark. The Sandman, on the other hand, merely floated in midair next to Jack.

"He's actually...leaving?" Jack queried, confused. The Sandman merely shrugged and formed a question mark above his head when Jack glanced his way, his blue eyes searching for answers. "But...why?"

Tapping Jack on the shoulder, Sandy pointed to the window, where he and Jack could make out the form of a young woman.

"That girl...she's the same one," Jack said lowly, and Sandy nodded, in affirmation. However, equally as much to their surprise as Pitch's sudden departure, the girl seemed to be agitated. "I wonder what she did to get Pitch to leave...unless he knew we were coming."

Shaking his head, Sandy seemed to disagree.

"You're right...from what you've done, bringing her dreams, if Pitch wanted to attack us, he would have done it by now...unless he's set up a trap."

To that, Sandy disagreed as well, shaking his golden locks a little bit more forcefully.

"Hmm...I dunno, Sandy. Up until now, he's only had you to deal with, and after the last time...well, I think he learned his lesson when you kicked his butt the first time. Still...I can't help but wonder what he's planning with all this."

Sandy shrugged again to that, and pointed again to the window. Slowly, Sandy began to float down closer to the window, pausing to the left of it. The Guardian of Dreams then gave Jack a pointed look, motioning for him to take the right side.

Obeying, Jack glided over easily on a breezy gust, settling himself on the opposite side of Sandy. Then, simultaneously, both Guardians turned their heads, trying to peer into the window to get a better look of what was going on.

* * *

**Amelia's POV**

As soon as Pitch Black had departed the confines of my room, I found myself instantly regretting my decision to send him off.

With a sigh, I lifted one hand to rub my temple, pinching the bridge of my nose in frustration. Closing my eyes, I took a long, deep, and shuddering breath, trying to keep calm amid a sudden flurry of confusion, jumbled emotions...and a possible veiled proclamation of love from _the Boogeyman_, of all people.

Suddenly, I heard a familiar jingling and rhythmical footsteps along the carpet. With a seemingly questioning meow, my cat Dusty left his usual sleeping area under the bed, padding his way over to me.

"Mrow?" he called lightly, as I felt the familiar brush of fur along my legs.

Sighing again, I reached down and scooped him up into my arms.

"Hey, Dusty," I murmured, gently rubbing his sleek, black pelt as I looked him over. Only in that moment did I realize how tired I truly felt...along with the bags under my eyes, weighing the skin down uncomfortably. Before long, Dusty began to purr, rubbing himself happily against my warm, comforting embrace.

"Sssh...everything's alright..." I whispered, though more to myself than my cat, who looked perfectly content in my arms.

While I rubbed Dusty's fur, my hands moving in slow circles, all of my thoughts and emotions seemed to melt away...the only thing remaining was the comfort of my cat in my arms, and the steady feeling of weariness.

"I need a cuppa," I muttered blearily, setting Dusty down on the carpet as I wiped cat hair onto my jeans.

I slipped into the bathroom briefly to wash my hands, and then sauntered over to the kitchen, grabbing myself a packet of Earl Gray. Grabbing a mug and pouring hot water over the placed packet, I watched in silence as the water steamed, the fog curling up into the air with ease.

Then I realized I was smiling, thinking about that time Pitch had helped me with my coffee that one morning.

Shaking my head, I exhaled, grabbing a spoon to stir the tea and adding sugar, as well as honey. For what seemed to be several minutes, I rested my frame against the kitchen sink, holding my cuppa, wrapped in a washcloth, in my hands, blearily staring at the wall in front of me.

Then, raising the cup to my lips, I tested the tea, finding it to be not too hot to drink anymore. Moving back over to my bedroom, I walked over to the nightstand, grabbing a coaster to set my mug down on.

Briefly, my gaze wandered over to the bookshelf...and the golden gleam of a familiar, hardback book caught my eye.

Walking over to the bookshelf, I took the book from the shelf, moving back over to the bed to seat myself. Reaching for my cuppa, I took a good, long sip before setting it back down, my eyes fixated on the cover of the Guardians of Childhood.

It was a beautifully illustrated book, to be sure - and I found myself wondering how I could ever have forgotten all but the Boogeyman. Now, however, as I lifted the cover, turning the first few pages of the tome, I began to remember.

A small, shy smile graced my lips again, unbidden, as I recalled my childhood memories, remembering the echo of my father's voice as he had read the tales of the Guardians to me, night after night.

"_Once upon a time,"_ I began to read aloud, _"Across the vast expanse of stars, and the beauty of the cosmos...there lived a great man..."_

* * *

Watching intently from outside, Jack and Sandy observed the young woman as she prepared herself a cup of tea, before retrieving the golden-bound book and setting down to read.

As soon as Sandy caught sight of the book, he seemed to get very excited, pointing to it with a grin as numerous sand images formed above his head.

Looking closer, while squinting, Jack was able to catch the title of the book: 'The Guardians of Childhood'.

"That's a bit weird," Jack commented, "She's so...old...to be a believer." A pause. "I wonder..."

As the girl began to read, Jack pressed his pale fingers against the glass of the window. Intricate, beautiful patterns of frost began to form, spreading and branching out as Jack focused on leaving a pattern.

* * *

**Amelia's POV**

From inside the room, I continued to read, my eyes easily scanning the pages as I soaked the information in. As I read, it all came back to me...and for a moment, I felt lost in my memories, feeling wonder and awe as my fingers swept across the beautifully painted pages.

A sudden, cold draft in the room caused me to shiver. Rubbing my arms and drawing myself tighter, I felt goosebumps form on my skin.

"That's funny, I don't remember..." I said, standing up and glancing towards the AC.

Then, looking around, my surroundings hit me like a tonne of bricks.

It was literally _snowing_ in my room.

Light, white snowflakes, not unlike fluffy cotton balls, floated slowly down from the ceiling, melting into my carpet as it made contact with the floor. Looking up in shock, I held out my palm...and, sure enough, I felt ice cold, wet liquid form there as the ice melted on my hand.

"This can't be," I murmured, stupefied, as I glanced towards the window. Sure enough, even the window looked frozen over, even though it was almost Easter. "This is impossible..."

Suddenly, an invisible hand seemed to write words into the frost on the window.

"_Nothing is impossible."_

Under that, just three more words formed.

"_Sincerely, Jack Frost."_

* * *

**Pitch's POV**

Pacing around his lair, Pitch Black let out a low, feral growl.

"_Stupid! Idiot!"_ he cursed angrily, face palming as he closed his eyes. His other, free hand formed a tight fist, which he shook in disdain. "How could you have let your one follower, the one person who _actually_ still bothered to believe in you, down with such foolishness?"

Within himself, and the chaos of mixed emotions, he could feel the two sides of himself warring against one another.

He didn't like it. He didn't like any of the ways how the current situation had turned out, to be precise.

"Why did you kiss her? She's a _human_. You're _immortal_," he chastised, seemingly rebuking himself for his own actions. "What kind of a fool do you think you are, thinking that she could possibly feel anything for you except for what you're best at..._fear_."

Around him, Pitch's few Nightmares that he still had remaining gathered around him, circling him, unsure of what to do. They watched him with ocher, pupiless eyes, watching him as they waited for their master to react.

Finally, Pitch stopped in his tracks, his tall, lean frame sinking as he crouched onto the ground.

After a moment of crouching like this, his hands clutching his head, the nightmares began to approach.

"Leave me _ALONE!"_ Pitch bellowed, his body snapping up suddenly as he screamed.

Sheer rage emitted from him as he threw a stone violently at the wall, towards the nightmare that had gathered there. Echoing off the hollow, cavernous walls, his outburst spooked the nightmares, sending them galloping off in different tunnels.

Sighing, Pitch buried his face in his palms.

"What have I done...?" he whispered, his voice mournful.

He stood like that for several moments, in silence. After a repose of solitude, softly, silently, his voice came forth as he sang a quiet melody.

_"No one would listen_  
_No one but her_  
_Heard as the outcast hears._

_Shamed into solitude_  
_Shunned by the multitude_  
_I learned to listen_  
_In my dark, my heart heard music..._

_I longed to teach the world_  
_Rise up and reach the world_  
_No one would listen_  
_I alone could hear the music_

_Then at last, a voice in the gloom_  
_Seemed to cry, 'I hear you!_  
_I hear your fears,_  
_Your torment and your tears...!'_

_She saw my loneliness_  
_Shared in my emptiness_  
_No one would listen_  
_No one but her_  
_Heard as the outcast hears..._

_No one would listen_  
_No one but her_  
_Heard as the outcast hears..."_

"Bravo," came a voice, as well as the sound of clapping.

Looking up, Pitch's eyebrows knitted together in a frown as he saw someone walking towards him...well, not really _walking_ towards him.

More like _flying_ towards him.

"Well, well, well," came the voice again, amused, as the person who it belonged to emerged - no,_ floated_ - from the shadows. "You don't see too many tragic romances anymore...I'll admit, I'm impressed. I haven't seen quite anything like this since William Shakespeare decided to immortalize the tale of _Romeo & Juliet_."

"Oh? And who exactly are you?" Pitch greeted the newcomer, with a slight sneer.

Looking over the stranger, Pitch took in the form of the speaker. It was a boy - a rather young-looking male, at that, though he couldn't quite tell if it was a young man or merely an older adolescent - and that _boy_ was dressed in what was, in Pitch's opinion, truly _ridiculous_ clothes.

"Nice _dress_, by the way," Pitch added sardonically, rolling his eyes.

"It's not a dress!" the young man - boy, whatever he was - protested, smoothing his hands over the fabric, as he lifted his chin with a hint of pride. "It's a _tunic_."

"Whatever you prefer to call that travesty you're wearing," Pitch commented, rolling his eyes. "Who are you supposed to be, anyways? The newest _Guardian_, come to taunt me in my own home?_"_

"Actually, _no,"_ the man pointed out, flying over to Pitch. The boy seemed to fly similarly to Toothiana, his wings beating at a rapid pace as he fluttered around Pitch. Much to Pitch's annoyance, this boy flew to close for his comfort zone. The Nightmare King tried swatting the boy away with a growl, only to have the boy shy away at the last moment.

"Whoever you are-" Pitch growled, swatting, "I am not-" - he swatted again, for the blasted bugger to dart out of his reach, "-interested in anything-" - another swat, "-you have to say."

"Sorry, pops, you missed me," the young man jeered, giggling. Pitch growled again, attempting several more times to swat the boy, with no success.

"Get out of my lair!" Pitch demanded, "You foolish, little-"

"Tsk, tsk, tsk," the boy replied, clucking his tongue as he folded his arms, easily flying out of Pitch's reach - again. "Is that any way to treat someone who wants to help you?"

"I don't want your help!" Pitch responded, raising his voice, irritated. "All I want-"

"Is to be loved in return by the girl of your dreams? That pretty little human mortal?" the boy countered, a grin spreading across his face.

Pitch stopped in his tracks.

"_What?"_ Pitch responded, looking at the gleeful stranger with thinly veiled surprise.

"Oh, yes," the newcomer affirmed, running a hand through his blonde curls with a smug look of his own. "I know all about you and the human girl. Amelia Lake, was it?"

"How..." Pitch murmured, looking both confused and surprised.

"How?" the boy repeated, then spread his arms. "Blimey, you think of all spirits, that the infamous Nightmare King would have heard of me!"

"Here, I'll give you a little hint..." the boy suggested.

Pausing, he snapped his fingers, and instantly, a golden bow and case of arrows appeared, slung across his body, as his winged sandals worked in tandem with his angel-like wings to keep him afloat.

Suddenly, Pitch let out a loud, hollow laugh.

"_Really?"_ Pitch countered, looking amused. "You _can't_ be serious."

"Oh, but I am!" the boy added happily, zooming suddenly to hover barely a few feet away from Pitch's face with a lopsided grin, as he stuck out one hand for Pitch to shake.

"The name's Cupid! Pleased to meet you!"

Cupid's enthusiasm, however, was not met with nearly as much candor as Pitch's reaction.

Glaring at the hand thrust, quite literally, into his face, Pitch's expression turned into one of annoyance as he lifted one hand, prying Cupid's hand away from his proximity.

"Anyways," Cupid continued, rattling on at his high-paced speed of talking as Pitch looked on, half-amused, and half-annoyed. "It is I, Cupid, the spirit of love...friendships, romance, parental bonding, you name it. I'm in charge of all of it! Specifically speaking, it's my main job to ensure the procreation of the human race and the birth of children, who will eventually grow into those adorable little rugrats who believe in you and the Guardians!"

Pitch merely glared at Cupid, crossing his arms.

"Yes, yes, get to the point," Pitch interjected, "You said you could help me with Amelia. Is that true?"

"Yes indeed-y!" Cupid affirmed, nodding, all happiness, in stark contrast to Pitch's annoyance. "See, you may not remember, but a little while ago, you had an argument with the Man in the Moon. There I was, minding my own business, when I get a message from the Tsar Lunar himself!"

"Yes, yes, get to the point," Pitch said, rolling his eyes as he moved his hand to indicate such.

"So," Cupid continued, looking intently at Pitch, now. "The Man in the Moon told me that he felt sorry for you-"

"-the last thing I need is pity!" Pitch snarled.

"-anyways, basically, Mr. Lunar entrusted me with a special task. He said he wanted to give you a gift."

"A gift?" Pitch repeated, looking incredulous. Cupid nodded in response.

"Yes, a gift," Cupid added, "So...here I am, at your disposal. Mr. Lunar told me specifically that he wished for nothing more than your happiness, and as a present, he sent me to help you."

"Why should I even believe you? You could be a Guardian in disguise, trying to trick me into something," Pitch accused, pointing a finger swiftly into Cupid's chest.

"Whoa, there, buddy," Cupid said, lifting his arms up in surrender. "I'm just here to help. No tricks, I swear."

Pitch didn't look satisfied, for for the moment, he seemed to draw his hand back, albeit reluctantly. Opening one hand, he called black sand to his palm, where his dark, large scythe appeared.

"Good," Pitch added smoothly, brandishing the sharp edge of the scythe at Cupid's neck. Cupid gulped. "Then you have nothing to fear from me."

"Okay, okay...easy now. Don't threaten the messenger," Cupid said, relaxing his tense frame only when Pitch withdrew his scythe. "As I was saying, I've been noticing your little dilemma with Ms. Lake. Normally, I'm already a sucker for star-crossed lovers...it was my speciality back in the medieval times. Anyways, I have a proposition for you...your gift."

"Oh?" Pitch said, looking interested. "Go on."

Cupid, however, winced a little. "However, you're probably not gonna like it."

"As I said...go on," Pitch said, breezily, circling Cupid with intent, golden eyes.

"Okay...well...the main factor standing in the way of your relationship with the pretty Ms. Lake is her mortality...or rather, your immortality," Cupid began, "You can either try and attempt a relationship as it stands...only Amelia being able to see you, exchanging witty banter, so on and so forth...or..." Cupid paused for effect, flashing Pitch a brilliant, white smile. "...you can try something a little..._different."_

"Different?" Pitch inquired.

Nodding, Cupid snapped his fingers again, and a brown satchel materialized around his torso. Reaching into the satchel, Cupid retrieved a small, golden flask, looking no bigger than a small perfume bottle. Cupid tossed the bottle towards Pitch, who easily caught in in his hands.

"What's this?" Pitch asked, studying the bottle in his hands.

"That, Your Fearness, is a highly potent potion," Cupid explained, "One of my best formulas to date, I'll say. Made with essence of true love...petals from the Golden Flower of Perpetual Healing...and some juice from the Golden Apples of the Hesperides, to spice it up. What it will do is make you human."

Pitch almost choked on his own tongue.

"_Human?"_

"Yes, human," Cupid confirmed, holding up his index fingers. "But there's a catch. Once you drink it, you will will become human. However, you will only have three days to get true love's first kiss...kiss the girl...yadda, yadda, yadda...I think you get the gist."

"_Only_ three days?"

"Hey, I can't work miracles, you know!" Cupid pointed out, his feathers ruffling. "You know how long it took me to brew that potion? A really gosh-darn long time, I'll tell you that! If you really want to win Amelia's heart, you're going to have to sacrifice something. That's how the whole thing works. Love is a two-way street, not a 'I-always-get-what-I-what' kind of thing."

For several long, pregnant seconds, Pitch studied the bottle in his hands intently, looking it over. Like any mortal, it was a delicate thing, easily prone to breaking...and yet it was beautifully carved with intricate, heart-shaped symbols.

"Well?" Cupid asked, looking a little bit impatient. "What do you think?"

A pause.

"One question," Pitch finally spoke, his eyes still fixated on the bottle. "What happens if I fail?"

"Well...I think that would be kind of obvious, wouldn't it?" Cupid said, with a shrug. "You revert back to being Pitch Black, the Nightmare King. Only your believers will be able to see you, so on, and so forth..."

For another several seconds, Pitch continued to look at the bottle, turning it over, again and again, as his expression seemed to be focused in thought.

"I'll consider it," Pitch said, his voice smooth, masking his inner turmoil of emotions. "Now, please leave my home..._now."_

"As you wish," Cupid said, mimicking what Pitch had said to Amelia earlier, with a mocking bow._ "...Your Highness."_

With a snap of his fingers, Cupid had disappeared, vanishing into thin air with a puff of pink-ish smoke.

Looking down at the bottle, Pitch considered his options, his lips pursed in a tight, grim line. Internally, he could feel his heart practically sinking in his chest.

How was he supposed to earn Amelia's love in only three days?

Even better yet, how was he even going to stand being a _human_ for three days? The very thought caused a shudder of disgust to run up his spine. Humans were vulnerable, weak, and so useless...not to mention _smelly_, if the Dark Ages were anything to go by. Why else would he have chosen to be the Lord of Fear, using their own terror to send them into easy submission?

Standing, he turned over the bottle again, seeing his reflection in the metallic surface.

'_If you really want to win Amelia's heart, you're going to have to sacrifice something. That's how the whole thing works. Love is a two-way street, not a 'I-always-get-what-I-what' kind of thing,'_ Cupid's voice replayed again in his mind.

With a sigh, Pitch took one look at the bottle...and made his decision.

* * *

**Disclaimer: **_Rise of the Guardians_ and all related literary characters are © 2013 to Dreamworks and William Joyce. This is an unauthorized work of fiction, and should not be regarded as canon or real in any way. _The Black Phantom_, all unrelated characters, are © 2013 to me, and are not be used in any other works of fanfiction not authorized or written by me without my permission.


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